Part Two: Welcome to Agrabah
by L.Marks
Summary: From Origin of Dragons to the First Curse of Storybrooke, Morgana and Merlin survive quite a lot. Follow their story as it continues from Part One, with stops in Arendelle, Agrabah, and - we'll see where else!
1. The Minevar Leaves The City

"Well, Great Minevar, it's been quite some time, has it not?"

The Dragon shuddered at the sound of that grating voice. "A little too long, I think," he muttered, "for a man who is not a Dragon. Even among my people, the time that has passed between us meeting is longer than a lifetime."

The man with the knife to his back stepped around him, slowly inching around until they were face to face. He looked worse than Death, his skin stretched tightly like parchment over bone, grey and peeling. His eyes were irritated to redness by the dust and fine sand of the desert, and the teeth his grin bared should never have seen the light of day. The Minevar remained admirably composed for his situation, at the mercy of one rotten wretch to whom Death itself had denied admittance.

"How long did it take you to forge that blade?" he asked.

"Oh, that didn't take long at all, you see - it was living that was the real issue," he laughed.

"The Black Water comes at a price," the Minevar remarked solemnly. "You are neither living nor dead."

"Oh, yes - but now I have you," he replied, pressing the knife against the old man's throat. "Say my name, Minevar, surely you haven't forgotten it."

"Ismail. You were the vizier to the Emperor Salman and his young brother, Agib," the old Dragon dipped his head to glare defiantly into the eyes of Ismail, the traitorous vizier, "and you would have killed them."

"And you cheated me of everything! Now you will lead me back to the place where you hid their riches."

"The Jewelled Caves? On foot? They are many miles from here, Ismail. Even if you can survive the journey, your people cannot."

Ismail laughed hollowly. "But the Blackwater is a peculiar thing, as you know. If a dying man drinks from that river, he will live on, but what happens to the living?"

The Minevar sensed thirty-nine of them in all. They were still alive, but at the same time not quite, as if they were shadowy masses of dust hovering about him. At least a few of them felt noticeable regret and an unwillingness to follow Ismail, but they too were held by some sorcery. No doubt he had tricked them into their present state with false promises, and the Minevar pitied them very much indeed. The overwhelming flow of hatred confused the old Dragon even more - hatred for Ismail, their supposed leader. In all his life he had never been able to sense someone's emotions so acutely if that person was not also a Dragon.

"That blade, what does it do?" he asked nervously. "Does it control Dragons, or Immortals?"

Ismail shot him an incredulous look. "You're thinking in unusually narrow terms, Minevar. The blade gives me control over magic - whether it's yours, or the magic the Blackwater gives to those who drink it, it doesn't matter."

"It also gives you immortality, doesn't it? You tied your magic and your soul to an inanimate object that could last forever, fortified by what little magic you possess. That was very foolish."

"Foolish? Why?"

"Immortality doesn't mean you can't be killed," the Minevar said simply.

"Take care to remember your own words, old man. Now: lead us to the Jewelled Caves."

Inside a week - a week without food or water - the Minevar had begun to drag his feet, but the shadowy figures that followed him showed no sign of any exhaustion. From the moment the Minevar showed the first signs, though, his condition deteriorated rapidly. A few days later his burnt skin began to peel and flake and blood coloured the cracks, and by the second week he was coughing blood. He walked day and night, fearing that if he stopped, he might not get up again. Slowly, his mind began to reject reality, but as he retreated into his mind, he heard only more clearly the quarrels in the Red City behind him. But if he stumbled, staggered, or fell, he never went down to his knees before Ismail, and never crawled.

It wasn't until they reached the shore, with the sound of the surf like music to his ears waking his mind to the surrounding world, and the quiet bubbling of a freshwater stream from the Hidden Caves reaching him, that suddenly a terrible screech wrent the air. The whole world must have heard it, for even Ismail and his thieves shuddered bodily, and turned to look back in the direction of the source. It was a break in Magic itself, and it resonated in everyone all around the world. For the Minevar, it meant only one thing: fighting had broken out in the Red City. He cried out weakly, a choked, heartbroken sound, the first in over a month, and collapsed on the sand.

He slept a long time. He slept through that night and the next day, and the night again. All the while Ismail and most of his followers had been trying, with what magic they collectively possessed, to locate the entrance to the Jewelled Caves. One had been tasked with standing guard over the old Dragon, but instead he took the frail body out of the sun and into the cave that was the source of the stream, and there he nursed the sleeping old man back to health.

* * *

><p>The Minevar woke with a start, cold to the bone, for it was not yet dawn and the cave was very damp. He was alone but for the shadowy figure that kept watch over him, but that meant little to him: he was the last true Dragon left in this desert land, and the ones that had fled were unlikely to return, even for him. For a few minutes he stared at the mute young man who had cared for him, noting the care and attention that had gone into healing him. Healing magic was always a reflection of the personality that possessed this power.<p>

At last the Minevar spoke. "Thank you," he whispered hoarsely. He could barely get a sound out.

The young man instantly leaned toward him, and offered him a shell of clear fresh water.

"You're rather careful," the Minevar added, when he could speak again. "This was very well done." Sincerity permeated his words and seeped into the silent man's bones: the injuries had been very well tended to.

At length, the young man spoke: "No one deserves to be forced through the desert on foot for a month, with no food, no water, no rest. We don't have a say against him."

The Minevar pulled himself up into sitting position, propping himself up against the wall. The young man - nay, he was but a boy, the Dragon realised - tried to stop him, but he insisted that he healed fast. Sometimes he just needed a little help.

"How did you end up in his lot? None of you follow him by choice."

"No," the boy admitted. "I was a sailor. We stopped to take provisions after a fearsome storm, but I fell asleep. I believe my crew missed me, and left without me. I went searching for a nearby village, and instead I met him."

"What's your name?"

"Sinbad. What is yours?"

The old Dragon smiled. "I don't have one. I've lived so long, all the people who knew it are long since dead. But now, it seems, my people no longer exist. They called me Minevar. It means, 'Eldest'. I have long been the eldest of them. It also means, 'Wisest', but I have never felt a greater fool. I am very old, and very much alone. Really, Sinbad, you should have just let an old man die."

"That's no way to talk!" Sinbad exclaimed.

"No worries, I won't do anything stupid. But I'm not likely to get out of here in this lifetime, that much is clear. You, on the other hand, you have a chance." The Minevar was observing him curiously.

Sinbad shook his head. "No, I can't. Have you ever heard of Blackwater poisoning? It confers magic to the afflicted, but it's like a disease."

The Minevar stared at him, eyes wide with surprise, then threw back his head and laughed heartily. "My boy, have you ever heard of Dragons? Blackwater poisoning is a myth."

And that night, the Forty Thieves became thirty-nine in number. Sinbad the sailor stole away in twilight and made for a nearby port, where, on the following morning, he discovered his ship. After he relayed to them the fantastical story of his travels through the land, they readily welcomed him back aboard, though not without a number of jokes over his ghostly pallor.


	2. Flynnigan Rider Puts Out To Sea

For all that the King of Arendelle had let him go, Flynnigan Rider was having trouble finding his way out of the castle. Honestly, it was more of a maze now than before: when he was running, he'd simply found himself returned straight back to the throne room doors, but now he guessed he'd seen every single hall and tower - just not the exit. How long had he been wandering around? It must have been hours.

"Hello," a girlish voice said cheerfully from somewhere above him. "You lost?"

"Yeah," he admitted, turning to look for the girl, but finding himself quite alone.

"Oh, come on. I'm right here. No one ever looks up." Flynnigan slowly raised his eyes to the ceiling above him, and discovered the auburn-haired girl he'd seen before. She was hanging upside down, as if her knees had been thrown over a bar. There was a huge grin on her face, like a happy cat.

"Oh," he said. "Right. I'll keep that in mind."

"Surely you don't intend to be stealing for the rest of your life?" she asked lazily, slowly righting herself in midair and dropping down beside him. He almost cried out, for she fell quite suddenly, but she came to an abrupt stop, and lifted the hem of her skirt. "See? I'm not touching the floor. I don't really like touching the floor. I love walking barefoot, so, you know - I cheat. If I have to wear shoes, I don't walk. And I can run faster than you," the girl teased.

"Can you, now?" The words popped out of him before he considered that maybe a magical creature was not a good opponent to make such bets with, but Morgana smiled and graciously declined.

"But I can get you out of here," she offered.

"Would you?" he exclaimed in earnest. "Oh, please, please help."

Morgana dipped her head and set off down the hall - in the opposite direction. "So, what are you going to do with that blue jewel?" she asked.

"You know about it?"

"Of course I do. It was a gift to our family by the oldest of our people. He also told us not to hold onto it for very long. You see, the longer you keep it, the hard it is to part with, and the more likely it is that someone might steal it."

"Stealing the jewel is bad?"

Morgana nodded solemnly. "Very bad. The thief gets into a terrible run of bad luck. But the person it's stolen from has good luck for the whole of their life, mostly. That jewel, it's just a second chance."

Flynnigan stopped her. "What's your name?"

"Morgana," she said. "Anika, the woman who gave that to you - she's my sister."

"Anika," he repeated, with a smile. "Tell me, Morgana, why would Anika want to give me a second chance?"

"Because that's what our people did. Or should have done. Everyone deserves a second chance. And anyway, Anika was born in a desert, but like the rest of our family, she loves the sea. She always wanted to travel."

"Tell me about your people," Flynnigan asked suddenly.

Morgana looked up, her young eyes wide and filled with sadness. "They, um, they got - confused."

"Is that it? The Dragons got confused and that caused the fall of the whole of the most advanced civilisation?" he asked sarcastically. He couldn't help it, he'd always wanted to see the Red City, and he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed, having heard of its fall. Especially now, when he'd actually met real Dragons, the family of Water Elementals known and revered by the oldest sailors he'd ever met.

Morgana took no offense. "You wanted to see the city?" she asked, a little surprised.

"Yes, I did. I heard it was beautiful," Flynn admitted.

"It was. I can show you," she offered her hand. Cautiously, he took it.

Suddenly he was surrounded by a completely different set of walls, and the halls were full of people. The walls were carved with not only Dragons, but mountains and rivers and fields and forests that looked almost lifelike in their many colours and their soft edges. Above this tableau, in the pinkish-grey walls, there were Dragons of red and gold, some flecked with silver scales, and some with bronze, even dark green. Their eyes sometimes followed the people below, sometimes they winked, and sometimes the wings moved.

They were in the library, the most beautiful structure, set in the very center of the city - as if it were the heart of things. In the rooms, he could see shelves and shelves of books lining the walls, reaching up to the ceilings - higher than the ceilings of the Arendelle castle.

"Wow," Flynn whispered.

"That was home," Morgana said wistfully, as she let go of Flynn's hand.

"That was amazing."

"It was, and then they forgot what they built all of it for," she observed, with a hint of bitterness. "Or you'd still get to walk through the city."

Flynn laughed. "You think they'd let me in?"

"My people would. Real Dragons."

"You're not disowning them, are you?" he asked, curious. "It's not so great, you know, disowning your folks."

"It's not the same thing. They forgot what it meant to be Dragons. That would be easy enough for people like us, we're alone now, but they weren't alone. They let themselves suspect their own kind, and while that may not seem unusual to you, remember that there was no way for one Dragon to lie to another."

Flynn shrugged. "Maybe a little lie is better, every now and then."

"Tell that to us, we have to learn to lie now," Morgana said with a smile. "And here's the main hall now."

Flynn looked up and saw the bright exit. "Thank you, I thought I'd never get out."

"Listen," Morgana stopped him before he walked off, "buy a ship."

"What?"

"Go down to the docks, buy a good ship. She'll take you around the world and bring you home whenever you want to stop. The seas are changeable, but take it from a Sea Witch, some, they are bound to favour. Especially when you hold the legendary Heart of Oceans."

"I thought it was called the Heart of the Sea?" Flynn asked.

Morgana shrugged lightly. "Who cares what it's called, it's more predictable than the waters anyway. The real Heart of the Seas or Oceans would be as hard to fathom as the depths. I'd wish you good luck, but you don't really need it."

"Never rely on luck!" he said, and walked out into the bright daylight.

* * *

><p>He went down to the docks, but finding no merchants about, he doubled back to the taverns. It had been an altogether remarkable day, and he felt as if he were floating.<p>

Flynn sat down at the counter next a man who looked like he'd seen a thousand storms at sea. "You alright there?" he asked, concerned.

"Nothing a pint won't fix," the man muttered.

"Uh-huh," Flynn nodded, "or seven."

The sailor laughed wryly. "I'm a merchant," he said, "and every last shipment, the last twenty voyages I've sailed, I've lost. I've been boarded by pirates - and here I thought they had a code, they wouldn't stop us merchantmen. Silly me. I've been forced to throw my wares overboard to survive storms and maneuver through shoals. The ship's bad luck, I tell ya. Should've known, you can't go far with the name of _Ursula_. Wish I could sell her to some fool, he'd be the one to rename it."

"I thought you couldn't rename ships."

Flynn seemed curious, so the merchant shrugged and told him of a ritual, involving the purging of the old name from the ship before giving it a new one. "Mind, it's not so easy with this one. After all, Ursula is a Sea Witch. The name you give to your ship had better not anger her. I imagine you might choose a name of someone in her family, but be careful. Call her _Miranda_, and she will weather any storm, but she will sail through plenty more than you'd ever care to see. The sailors say those two always got into terrific fights."

Flynn shook his head. "Nah - I was thinking, maybe, Anika."

The merchant raised his head to give the young man a bleary look. "You don't got any money, do ya, kid? Just my luck, I find a good kid who has a chance at that damned boat, and you look like you haven't got a penny in the world."

Flynn smiled. "Well, sir, let me tell you something," he said, as he reached into his pocket, "your luck's about to change."

And he held out the smoky blue sapphire to the merchant. "Is that - what I think it is?" he asked hoarsely.

"See you don't hold on to it too long," Flynn told him. "It may bring you luck, but not to the poor bastard who steals it from you. Trust me, as an ex-generally-unlucky-thief, I can say I wouldn't wish that on any of my unfortunate brethren. Where can I find your ship?"

"_Ursula_? On the docks, trust me, you can't miss her. She's a right ghost ship, black and haunted-looking. You won't even find a crew aboard her, but if you rename her and find a crew to sail with you, she's all yours. I wash my hands of her," he muttered, staring down at the beautiful stone. "Bless you, son. What's your name?"

"Flynn. Flynnigan Rider," he replied, doing his best to crack Morgana's wild trademark grin. And he set off into the night to find his new ship.

_Ursula_ did look downright ghostly. Flynn grimaced a little at the look of her, but boarded with a cat burglar's agility. He didn't find a soul aboard, either, but he figured the ship's reputation preceded her. So he stepped forward to the stem and called down.

"Look," he began, speaking quietly into the night, trusting to his luck only a little now, "I realise this is somewhat irregular, but I was wondering if you might help. I don't really know a thing about renaming boats or purging the original name or anything, but I can see a ship with the presumption to carry your name offends you. I think I may have an alternative suggestion, if you'd like to consider it."

There was a long silence - he was beginning to think he must have been crazy to even consider speaking with the Sea Witch. But suddenly the water below began to roil, and something rose slowly from the depths.

"Well, hello," said Ursula, her voice low and dangerous. "An alternative? And what would you like to rename this ship to?"

"Anika," Flynn replied, a slight tremour in his voice.

"Anika," the witch repeated flatly. She watched him for a long few minutes as she considered. "Come back in the morning," she said at last, and sank out of sight.

Flynn decided he'd gotten off pretty easily, and muttered a thank you under his breath to the kind lady who had given him the gift of luck. He'd sorely missed it, most of his past life.

On the following morning, Flynn had to force his way through a crowd of people, who had gathered to gaze and marvel at the beautiful ship of dark smooth wood that floated right where _Ursula_ had been the previous night. Flynn was frankly as astonished by the look of her as they were. "_Anika_," he breathed, admiring her long lines and lovely figure. The figurehead was fashioned into a fierce Dragon. Utterly amazed, he turned back to the crowd, where he saw, just for a moment, Ursula herself. She nodded once, and vanished.


	3. Return to Arendelle

The young prince of Arendelle, bright-eyed and full of life, invigorated by three years spent at sea, traveling to new, astoundingly bizarre, jaw-droppingly beautiful and exotic places, sailed into Arendelle quietly, without fanfare. He slipped off the boat after parting with the crew, no longer a humble man, but a crowned prince. And if Time had not changed one fair lady's heart, he was also, very hopefully, soon to be engaged.

All the lessons his father had taught him since before he could walk, all the things that would help him be a worthy, honourable, respected King, like his father, were far from his mind at this moment. For the young man did not walk: he floated on the air, full of hope and love, and thoughts only of Anika. Falling in love with a Dragon had that particular effect on mere mortals, it seemed.

And yet, he was a dutiful son. Nothing in the world, not even the love of his life, could distract him from first seeing his father.

* * *

><p>The King leaned back in his armchair, his feet put up to the fire in the library. He was quite engrossed in a book the Lady Miranda had leant him - on the magic of castles. It had been two years since that thief broke into his castle, and yet he still couldn't quite understand just how a castle built by - he believed - non-magical folk could have such powers. Miranda suggested the simplest explanation first - that his home wasn't really built by ordinary people at all. But, when pressed, she admitted that all castles have some form of magic.<p>

And then she also muttered something about Rock Trolls, which was another story altogether. He had a few books at his elbow on that subject as well.

Every now and then, someone reported something new about the adventures of a charming, dashing, prosperous, and completely daft Captain Rider. A scroll, reporting on that matter, lay atop the books. Much like the thief himself - oh dear, the King had to remind himself to stop calling him that, or at least call him an ex-thief - these reports provided the old ruler with a constant source of amusement. He hadn't touched the latest message, however.

It wasn't a rare thing for the King to bury himself in his books - indeed, he rather enjoyed escaping into the recesses of his mind. However, lately he had been very worried: he had stopped receiving reports of his son's whereabouts, letters from the ship posted from all over the world. Perhaps he would have worried less, having read that Flynn Rider had picked up a young prince in his travels.

Then again, maybe not.

For a few minutes, he dozed off, then woke with a start. The King aimed a sideways glare at the time, yawned and stretched and shifted in his armchair. It was quite warm, even though the fire was burning low by now. He didn't want to move and shuffle off to bed through the cold empty halls. "Well," he muttered, picking up the scroll to lay his book down on the others, "that's enough of that for one night."

A draft skittered over his legs and worried the flames a little. "I quite agree," someone said.

"Carl?" the King cried out, leaping to his feet and whipping around.

The sight that greeted the proud father's eyes was breathtaking: there stood his son, no longer a pale thin slip of a lad, but a young man - a sailor.

"Hello, Father," he said, and ran forward to embrace the King of Arendelle.

"I thought something terrible could have happened," the King admitted, "I stopped receiving your letters, the captain's reports! What did happen?" he pressed, holding his son so tightly that the other fought to speak.

"Father!" Carl laughed. "I'm alright, Father. We sailed into an awful storm off the coast of Agrabah - apparently that stretch of the sea is always treacherous. It wrecked the ship and left us on an island, but thankfully we didn't stay there long. We were picked up by another ship and it brought us straight home."

"Where is this captain? I must see him, I must thank him for returning you all in one piece!"

"No, Father," Carl stopped him rather insistently, "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Well, why not?" he asked, confused.

"Ah, Father - you know this captain."

"All the more reason that I should thank him myself!"

"You see, while we were sailing back to Arendelle, he entertained with a story about a visit he paid to my home about two years ago," Carl began cautiously.

"Oh?" One of his father's eyebrows arched dangerously.

"Yes," Carl drew out, believing his father had already surmised exactly who it was that saved his son. "He stole, I believe he said, my grandmother's circlet? The one you told me you would offer to Anika, should she agree to marry me upon my return. Some trifling thing like that."

"Something very much like that," the King echoed, with a spark in his eye that threatened - usually nothing good.

"The thing is, you see, I asked why his ship was called _Anika_, and he graciously explained to me that a woman by that name had given him a second chance, and that he would never forget it. Now, if you ask me, that sounds an awful lot like someone we both know." Carl was sure he'd entered very dangerous territory by now.

The King merely looked his son up and down, and asked sternly, "Well, son? Do you still intend to marry her?"

"I do," he answered with conviction.

"Then stop wasting time here with me!" the King barked, and with a warm smile, clapped his boy on the shoulder. Carl didn't leave at once.

"You're not going to arrest Rider, are you?" he asked.

"Nonsense. I wouldn't dream of arresting the man who brought you home to me, now go - go and get the girl!" Carl instantly leaped from his place and rushed out of the room.

"Oh, and Carl!" the King called after him as he went, stopping him instantly. "I'm proud of you, son."


	4. Master Yen Takes A Holiday

Well, he had to say, Anika's wedding was a timely event. Anything to finally get rid of Morgana and Merlin, those two monsters. Two years - two non-stop, breathless years, of badgering and wrangling the two since Morgana's first truce with Merlin - Master Yen hadn't caught a break. The last thing he had expected, after training so many young Dragons, was that a pair of them would join forces and cause him a lifetime's worth of mischief in so short a time. Their sparring matches were completely devoid of malice. And Morgana, it seemed, had found out just what to offer Merlin to sway him from his unwavering devotion to his master: she was teaching him Dragon Magic.

The boy, from what Master Yen could figure out, had escaped after the fighting broke out in the city - and therefore, after the Collapse. Dragon Magic did not come easily to him as it did to Morgana, but he did seem able to harness it. More importantly, she was forcing him to think in ways that Master Yen hadn't yet managed to.

Now he sighed a voluminous sigh of relief, knowing that Morgana would be away for a few weeks. He could leave the castle to Merlin, or, if Merlin took it in his head to travel as well, he could safely leave the castle to itself. Now all he needed to do was to find a place to run off to, far away from his pupils and far enough away from the wedding. Agrabah, he thought. Agrabah was perfect: new magic, born from the ashes of the Dragon Empire in a matter of days - or so the rumour went. There were so many new and amazing things he wanted to explore, he could spend weeks crawling around the new Empire - but he had to remember not to get carried away.

New spices, new magical magical artifacts, spells, and new people. He could almost smell the desert again, and though it woke a few old painful memories, with Morgana around he was beginning to remember the good ones too. They were inseparable, those memories, he just had to get through the bad ones to get to the good moments.

* * *

><p>Yen felt he was caught: two held his arms in a powerful grip, three others surrounded them. Air Masters, the lot. That didn't surprise him much: after the Dragon Magic failed - the Collapse, many now called it - most elementals had banded together. They even called themselves Elementals now, which Yen found somewhat distressing.<p>

Suddenly, all the stereotypes seemed to apply. The Fire Masters were the temperamental hotheads, and try as he might, he never could keep his own brethren in line. The Earth Masters seemed exceptionally keen on defending themselves alone, and had been making a right ruin of the entire city, hiding amongst the broken pieces. Water Masters were difficult to figure, they mostly formed independent groups of small numbers. But if you had the misfortune of running afoul of any more than three at once, you agreed the city had been spared its dying gasp for a while longer just so long as the Water Masters hadn't formed a cohesive unit. Air Masters had often been considered the most peaceful, so at this moment Yen was hoping very much that he had no need to panic.

He had no idea just how sorely he was mistaken, and barely understood what he'd gotten into the moment the air was sucked right out of his lungs. It was a wrenching, unexpected feeling. Yen raised his head, trying to catch the eye of one of the surrounding Dragons as he struggled to breathe. There was a cold determined glint in his glare, one that spoke volumes of hatred and bitterness, but not for Yen personally. It was strange: since the Collapse, Yen had been unable to understand what any other Dragons were thinking, unless the feeling was so intense that he might fear for his life. A blackness descended over him, clouding his eyes, beckoning him into unconsciousness.

He had nearly let go when, with a deafening roar, a wind whipped about him, and the turbulent air filled with screams of pain and death. But the fierce grip on his lungs and loosened, and somehow no one held his arms. Yen fell to his knees, able to breathe again at last. When the wind quieted, he opened his eyes, and cast a glance about - cautiously, wondering why he had been left alive. Where five Dragons had stood only moments before, there were now bones picked clean of life. Stunned, Yen slowly brought his eyes up to his saviour.

Master Ben stood at the top of a heap of rubble leaning on his staff, anger thick as thunder on his visage. But when he saw Yen still coughing among the bones, he pulled a surprisingly cheerful expression - though only for an instant - and propelled himself down the side of the massive pile to offer Yen a hand. The Fire Master took it without hesitation. "We'd better go," Ben muttered quickly, "there are more of them coming."

Yen didn't move for a few seconds. His jaw fell as he rifled through his mind, rewriting all he had ever known or thought of Master Ben. "Thank you," he said at last, and trudged off after the retreating Air Master.

"Don't mention it. Come on, we have to get up higher - somewhere the others can't keep their footing."

Yen followed him past the ruined frames of buildings, staring up at the mountains of debris the fighting had left. Some of the buildings still stood, but that was easily accessible elevation. No one seemed particularly keen to attack two wanderers, if there was anyone up there at all.


	5. Misbegotten Fortunes

Morgana breathed in the sweet smell of chocolate. All around her, the castle was in a commotion, everyone preparing for the wedding of Prince Carl and Lady Anika. The moment she'd made her presence known, her mother hurriedly kissed her and run off, dragging Anika along with her, and Leyna was nowhere to be seen. Her father was a little more welcoming - but then Miranda had reappeared and called him away urgently as well. Morgana laughed a little, and slipped away to the servants' quarters to see where she could help. Magic was still an unsettling sight to some, but many did accept her help when she offered.

Among the many tasks that magic could accomplish far better than human labour was the decoration of the main hall. Morgana raised wreaths and ribbons, and guided them to the ceiling. She'd just finished when a haggard-looking man burst through the doors in tears. He called for help, he called for the merciful King, for the young prince, for the kindhearted future princess Anika, or for the wise Counselors Miranda and Ariel, but it was Morgana who stepped forward and asked him his name.

"Alvar," he told her, "I'm a simple merchant. My daughter is missing, please, help me," he begged.

"My name is Morgana," she began, and instantly his face lit up with hope.

"Morgana? Anika's sister?"

"Yes, Alvar, yes. Tell me, what happened?" Morgana drew him aside to a bench under the main stairs, and sat down beside him to listen.

"It's a long story," he said. "Two years ago, I met a handsome young stranger in a bar. Called himself Flynn Rider - lucky devil is now sailing around the world on the ship he bought from me, only, she had a different name then. He looked like he didn't have a penny in the world, this young fellow, but he traded me my ship for a jewel that I thought might have been the Heart of the Sea."

Morgana smiled gently - Flynn had taken her advice, after all. "But what if it wasn't?" she asked, just in case. "You gave away a ship for a jewel that wasn't worth nearly as much as your ship, your livelihood, surely?"

"Believe me, Lady Morgana, that ship was known for its bad luck. The man who built her named her _Ursula_ - what an idea, to name a ship after the Sea Witch. She didn't take to it very well."

"Please, Alvar, don't call me a Lady. I'm a simple girl," Morgana assured him. Then, she added, "Ursula once fell in love with a mortal, but the two were torn apart. He thought he was doing what was best for her, but he'd been tricked, and she never forgave him. He named his ship after the love of his life."

Alvar watched her as she spoke, and nodded sadly. "I see. Well, anyway, the jewel was real enough. My luck changed the very moment I took it. But my wife was ill, you see, and I kept the jewel until my son was born. I know, he said, get rid of the jewel, otherwise it will be harder to get rid of, but I couldn't imagine my life without a reminder of how all the bad times were all in the past, but that it hadn't been just a nightmare."

Morgana nodded. "I understand, Alvar. And your son, he was born healthy?"

"Yes, yes, he was, and my wife - she survived," Alvar assured her, with tears of remembered joy glimmering in his eyes. "And my daughter, she was about to be married. This week, in fact, I gave her the jewel, as wedding gift. I told her that if she could let go of it, she'd best do so. But, for once, I think the jewel was more of a curse than a luck charm."

"When did you last see her?"

"Agatha," he said, "that's her name. I saw her this morning before breakfast, she went down to the docks to check on my wares. She keeps an eye on my business for me." Alvar stopped, overwhelmed once more. "The first mate on one of my ships," he choked out at length, "he said he saw two men take her. He gave chase, but they slipped away. Morgana, I've heard rumours of a slave trader, here in Arendelle. He sails to Agrabah with a cargo of kidnapped people, and sells them there. His name is Zayir - please, Morgana, if he's taken my daughter -"

The full force of that nightmare must have only just then overtaken him, for he gasped and fell onto his knees before her. Morgana, startled, quickly pulled him up with unexpected strength for a young girl. "Please! Alvar, listen to me. I will find your daughter, I promise. I'll find her."

Alvar thanked her profusely, bowed deeply, and hurried off. As Morgana watched him, her mother appeared over her shoulder.

"It's generous of you to want to help, but you are only Master Yen's student," she said. "You may be a formidable opponent in your own right, but what are you to do against a slave trader?"

"You think it's a slave trader?" Morgana asked coolly, turning to face her mother. "I believe him, but I rather doubt that a slave trader would find safe haven in Arendelle."

"He may not," Miranda nodded, "but if he comes, not as a slave trader, but as a foreign dignitary, kidnapping a pretty young woman is the last thing anyone would suspect him of. You know this place is crawling with foreign dignitaries."

Morgana cast a look about them. Many of the guests had already arrived.

"Just let me search the city, Mum. If she's not here, we can send someone. Only -" she continued, as she slowly stepped away, "I'm not sure whom we could send."

Miranda had to admit, she had a very good point.


	6. Welcome To Agrabah

Master Yen alighted in his winged reptilian form in the desert, not far from the city of Agrabah. It was refreshing to unfurl his full size, for once, to take a chance and feel the wind carry him up far above, out of sight and truly free. Only Dragons were free, he thought, as he stood, a mere human once more, an hour's measured walk from the gates.

The desert was as alien to him as ever. When the Dragons built their glorious city, they had dared to call it home, but the desert sometimes begged to differ. They had repulsed its every attack, but a call that now echoed in Yen's very bones betrayed a more insidious route of invasion. It had begun to change them from within, he decided. The desert had made them a part of itself. In fact, he could walk for three days and three nights through the very heart of it and thinking nothing of the journey. He wondered if that was what had destroyed the Dragons in the end, or if it had begun when all that was left of them was a fractured few groups. It was hard to think that an external source had somehow broken them apart from the inside: he had already seen so much of the hate, the bitterness and anger in his people, it was easier to blame Dragons for their own downfall.

It was also, he was now convinced, a hopeless way to look at the matter.

Yen marveled at this new idea in his head. Morgana seemed to be having quite an affect on his mindset. He didn't know whether to thank her or send her back home with her things. He tried to consider what would happen if did send her away as he walked - just to amuse himself. The first obstacle, of course, was Merlin.

Merlin had definitely, for all his denial, grown very close with her. She was the first Dragon he'd ever gone head to head with, who had actually befriended him. Yen would have a mutiny on his hands if he ever sent the girl away. And now that she'd taught his apprentice real Dragon Magic, Yen was certain he was too old for the sort of altercation he might expect. He also amused himself with the thought of Miranda appearing in his castle and joining forces with Merlin against him. Amusing wasn't quite what he'd call it, he realised soon - it would be a lot more like the war than he cared to remember.

By then, thankfully, he'd reached the gates. The thought of Miranda sent a chill right through him, for he remembered teaching her as clear as if it were yesterday. He found himself passing through the gates and thanking his lucky stars that he was many years rid of her now. Not Morgana, not Merlin - it was Miranda he was glad to have washed his hands of.

* * *

><p>"I can't take her, she's a Water Elemental!" Yen protested.<p>

"Water and thunder, flash and rain," the Minevar was muttering. Yen assumed he was forecasting another thunderstorm off the coast. He usually said fairly important things when he spoke, but if he didn't want to explain himself, they could be completely irrelevant to the topic at hand.

A helpful council member beside him attempted to translate what he imagined the Minevar might be thinking: "Elementals have been known to mix," he supplied. "We were all trained by Masters who were not of our Element. It's not unheard of."

"And how many of you know of Fire training Water?" Yen asked, curious. None of the Council seemed to recall such a pairing before. "I've heard of Water training Fire," he admitted. "But everyone I've ever asked has warned me against the reverse."

At that the Minevar leaned forward and said, clearly and quietly, "This Elemental sorting of ours - it falls rather short, doesn't it?"

His voice, weathered with the hundreds of years he had seen, mellowed with thoughtfulness and kindness, carried across the room as if it were aimed directly at Master Yen. It seemed the Minevar knew magic few others would ever discover, but every word, every sound was an attempt to share it.

"No Water Elemental is true to water alone, and I sense a streak of Fire in her that even you, Master Yen, will pay dearly to control. No one else here has a Fire quite like it - except, unfortunately, you." The Minevar smiled - slyly, Master Yen thought, as if this were some kind of punishment brought down upon him.

He bowed and withdrew from the Circle of the Wise, and happened upon the young girl he had been trying so desperately to avoid, waiting for him outside the council chambers.

"Miranda," he said sternly, looking down at her with all the suspicion he could possibly direct at a young Dragon with an innocent face. It was always the ones with the innocent expression on their faces who caused the most trouble, but in spite of Miranda's record, Yen had yet to realise the full extent of the trouble he was in.

"Master Yen, will you be teaching me?" she asked sweetly.

"The Council has agreed that it would be best," he replied.

Miranda grinned - such a terrorising, wild, incongruous grin on a face that had looked up at him only a moment ago like she hadn't done anything wrong.

"Miranda! It's still my choice, you know. You have to stop creeping around the lower city aqueducts, for goodness' sake."

"But Master Yen, they're built all wrong. You don't need to heat the hot water pipes with magic, you can draw from the hot springs or the underground fire pits," she argued.

"The what?" Yen eyed her very carefully for a moment, then squatted down beside her. "What fire pits?"

"They weren't there when the city was built," she said. "We would have used them if they were. There's a fire in the mountain."

Yen leaned back, surprised. "The Minevar did say there's a streak of fire in you. Right, I'll look at the aqueducts. And don't you go down there again, it's dangerous. Go, get yourself cleaned up."

The last thing he was sure of, as she scampered off, was that he would definitely catch her down there again soon. He could sense her curiosity about the rising underground fires, and - he had to be honest - it echoed in him no less.

* * *

><p>Master Yen breathed in the smells of spices and smoke, strolling casually through the market. He'd already pocketed at least five herbs that might prove to have magical qualities, and ten of those used by Dragons for all sorts of medicinal and magical purposes. But his roving eye alighted rather abruptly on a pottery and metalware shop, where the pots and lamps had a strange reddish glow to them.<p>

As he approached, he realised most people probably saw just ordinary lamps and vases. They were beautifully wrought, but magic had been woven into them, making them nearly unbreakable. Only Dragon Magic glowed like that.

Yen couldn't resist the pull of that stand, he couldn't resist finding one of the survivors. Just one, just another one, one that hadn't seen the war. They were the rare ones, the ones whom he prized above all others, because they were a relic of all the best of an extinct civilisation. They were what he'd fought for, ultimately, but when he fought to strike down the horrible things born from the destruction of the Red City, he'd fought only for a memory. He reached out to a plain-looking lamp sitting on the shelf before him, hand trembling, just to brush the surface and feel that familiar magic again.

"Buy a gift for your wife, buy something pretty," a voice rang from within the gloom.

Yen looked up and froze in place, forgetting to breathe. Those eyes, those eyes should have haunted his dreams through all the war, and all the years since.

"Jinna," the name escaped him at last.

She pulled back. "What are you doing here? Why did you come back?"

Yen stared at her, wondering if, maybe, Fate had given him another chance. Carefully, he opened his mouth to speak, dusting off his memory of the Old Tongue. "I wanted to see the flowers that grew from the ashes."

There was so much weight in his words, it was clear they should have meant something near to her heart. Jinna quickly stepped out from behind her stand and ran forward to embrace him. "It's good to see you too, Yen."


	7. The Dragon Sisters Three

Alone in a firelit room in front of the window, looking out at the twilight, Morgana stood deep in thought. Anika watched her from the doorway a little while before tiptoeing in. All the family had hurriedly said hello and rushed off on their errands when she came, and she felt they hadn't given Morgana her due warm welcome. But Morgana had been oddly silent, and seemed to be considering going out again to find the merchant Alvar's daughter more seriously than wandering about the castle, useless.

"You're trying to avoid staying for the wedding, aren't you?" Anika asked playfully.

"Maybe," Morgana answered softly, smiling at the intrusion.

"But why? You're my sister, I can't have it without you. What's wrong, Morgan?"

But her sister shook her head. "It wouldn't be right to say, Anuk. It would be cruel."

Anika laughed. "Well, who else can you be cruel to? Might as well be me. I can take it better than anyone else we know."

"Anuk -" Morgana turned from the window and immediately regretted it: she couldn't possibly win against the look she saw on her face. "Anuk, I can't help but think, it's such an unequal match, humans and Dragons - we live so much longer. Knowing you will outlive him, it grieves me."

Anika's expression darkened. "Remind me, Morgana, was it not you who encouraged me? Who said that if I loved him, I should go for it? That even a little time was better than nothing at all?"

"Yes, I did. And I do still think I was right. But I'm your sister, and I can't help but think of it."

Anika reached forward and embraced her younger sister. "We'll always have each other, though." She thought for a moment, then added slyly, "You know, all the guests are here. And the preparations are all complete. We could actually have the wedding now. I'm sure, aside from the odd political implications, the King would be more than happy about it."

Morgana laughed. "Leave it to you to plan the wedding, and everything will be ready a week early."

"Two weeks, actually. But you were missing."

"Well it's a long way from Master Yen's snowy peaks."

"Yes, and you had good weather all the way, I made sure of it. That didn't seem to help you," Anika snapped reproachfully.

"No, the weather had nothing to do with it," Morgana admitted.

"I'm well aware. What happened to you?"

Morgana sighed exasperatedly. "Merlin."

"Oooh, Merlin," Anika teased. "Come on, what's that look? Is he at least handsome?"

Her sister gave a mild shrug. "Never thought about it."

"So think about it now!" Anika prodded her insistently.

Morgana didn't much like being so insistently questioned, it seemed. "Sure, he's handsome, in a rugged, I'll-kill-you-when-your-back-is-turned sort of way," she answered, in a tone somewhere between sarcasm and amusement.

"Oh. Guess you shouldn't have invited me, then," a voice from the door shattered their quiet laughter. Morgana spun around on her heels, surprised to see Merlin there.

"Didn't I leave you in a ravine three days ago?" she snarled.

Anika had never seen her so furious. "I'll go ask the King if we can hold the wedding a bit earlier," she said softly and withdrew, careful to hide her amusement from her fuming sister. Merlin, however, took note of her smile as she passed him, and nodded politely.

"I'm sorry, Morgana. I didn't mean any of it. I just thought you were leaving."

"Yes, in fact, I was leaving. For my sister's wedding. To which you were apparently invited - I'll be having a word with her on the subject."

"I thought you weren't coming back," Merlin admitted.

Morgana tipped her head to one side. "Why would you think that?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, your sister left after less than a year. And it's not like you seemed particularly engaged in Mast Yen's latest lessons, or even during sparring matches. I thought you were bored, and that I wasn't good enough to keep your attention. If it's not a challenge to you, you lose interest."

Morgana moved forward menacingly. "You thought you weren't enough of a challenge for me, so I was leaving?"

"Stupid, right," he said quickly

"Yes, very," she agreed with enthusiasm, "considering I've hardly been holding my own. I don't know how you could think I looked bored, more than half the time I was scared for my life."

Merlin laughed. "You have this look on your face whenever you're scared for your life, it's intense and very unamused. You look more annoyed than worried, and you never look like you're in trouble."

"You want me to look worried when you're attacking me?"

"Morgana, I don't want to look worried, or scared. I don't want to fight you. I want to see you smile, or laugh, but I don't want to hurt you." Morgana eyed him silently for a moment, possibly entirely confused, though she didn't show it. "Please don't leave," he said at last. "I learn more when you're there, and somehow you make it more interesting."

"I wasn't leaving," she answered quietly.

Merlin didn't know what possessed him to lean forward and kiss her. Morgana, surprised for but an instant, gently pulled him closer as a ripple of magic stirred the air about them.

He found himself staring down at his hands, wondering why they were glowing, outlined in an odd orange light. "What is that?" he whispered.

"Don't worry. It's only the Dragons' Link," Morgana laughed softly, her arms about his neck, her large grey eyes studying his look of confusion.

"Dragons' Link," he repeated, still not sure of the implications.

"Come on," she prodded him gently, "try flying."

"Flying? Are you mad?"

"Not at all, it's the most basic Dragon skill. Come on, give it a go," Morgana urged, and stepped back herself. "Watch," she commanded, as she raised her arms slowly. A similar glow surrounded her, in the shape of large folded wings at her arms, stretching past her fingers. If they had been real, they would have brushed the ground. The golden wings unfurled and beat slowly, raising her slightly above the ground to hover. "Try it!"

Slowly, Merlin copied the motions, wondering what it would be like to fly, to hang weightless in the air, and feel the wind rush by. In mere seconds, he realised his feet had left the ground, and he laughed, exhilarated.

"Morgana? What did I tell you about flying indoors? Oh!" Miranda stopped short at the threshold and stared at Merlin's floating form.

"Sorry," he said quickly, and dropped from the ceiling.

"No, not at all," Miranda said lightly, "I see you've never done that before. You're a quick study."

"Thank you," Merlin muttered awkwardly.

"Anika tells me you'll be staying for the wedding. The King is more than happy to arrange the ceremony for the day after tomorrow, but you're welcome to stay the full week all the same. Especially if it keeps Morgana here with us."

Merlin shrugged as he watched Morgana descend effortlessly to the ground. "I doubt I could keep her anywhere."

"Whatever you say," Miranda conceded and withdrew, thoroughly amused.

Outside, Anika met her at the far end of the hall. "Well?"

Miranda nodded with intense certainty. "You're right, there's definitely something there."

Morgana turned to Merlin and giggled. "I always know when my mother's spying, she doesn't care about flying indoors. Actually she rather enjoys doing it herself. We have to go down to the party, there's a dinner with all these foreigners, good food, and a little bit of dancing. I have to go find my little sister, she's been hiding since I came. I'll see you down there?"

"Of course," Merlin replied, watching her as she walked out of the room, bewitched by her enchanting smile.

* * *

><p>The favourite hiding place of every Dragon was, more likely than not, the Library. Every parent knew it, for they, too, had hidden there in their youth. But the Library was unlike every other place in the world - it changed shelves, switched books, rearranged itself to form new hiding places that hadn't been there the day before. It didn't matter where in the world the Dragons, went after the fall of the city: the first place to look for an absent child was always the library. Then, you could try the theater or the music room.<p>

Morgana crept in quietly, looking around for Leyna between the heavy bookcases, but turned at last to a table in the corner. It was probably the messiest room in all of Arendelle, to be honest - it was the private library that belonged to her parents, and the ordered chaos made it clear that the room was well-used. Under the tablecloth Leyna must be, Morgana decided. She didn't display much magic yet, but one thing Morgana felt sure of: she could make her own light for reading in the dark. That had been her first trick as well.

"Leyna, I know you're here. Come out, they're serving dinner downstairs."

"Will there be people?" a girl answered - from under the table, as Morgana had suspected.

"Lots," she admitted unapologetically. "And I'll do my best to make the very worst impression on them all. That's my job. You don't even have to say anything, just come downstairs and eat dinner."

"Morgana?" There was something odd in her voice.

"Leyna, what is it, what's wrong?"

"I'm not like you and Anika."

"We're all different," Morgana replied, confused. "Nothing wrong about that."

"No -" Leyna crawled out from under the tablecloth and stood up, brushing off her skirts. "I thought I was supposed to be a Water Elemental."

"I didn't know you could do Elemental magic yet," Morgana replied, sitting down and resting her shoulder against the table. "Did you show Mum and Dad?"

Leyna shook her head. "I'm not Water," she said.

Morgana shrugged. "So what? What did you do?"

"I wanted to see how a small plant would grow in the garden. It was a rose."

The older sister settled back a little. "You grew a rose. You're an Earth Elemental," she said with a smile.

"But I thought I was supposed to be Water," Leyna repeated, confused.

Morgana sighed. "Just because our whole family has been water - Mother, and our two aunts, me, Anika - it doesn't mean you have to be. Besides, Elemental magic isn't even the right way to sort out who we are and what we can do."

"I've never even heard of an Earth Master," Leyna added.

"Oh, so you want to be wise?" Morgana laughed. "Well, then, let me tell you this: Earth masters were the oldest and wisest of the council, though they never let anyone make them famous for it. They often refused to take the post for many years until they thought they were ready, and then made the rest of the council look like children. And, you know, the Minevar, the oldest and wisest of Dragons, he mastered all Element forms. But the truth is, he is the one who raised the Red City from the ground, not only because he was our most powerful and craftiest mage, but because he was born an Earth Elemental himself."

Leyna seemed surprised. "The Minevar was an Earth Elemental?"

"Yes, he was. Not many people know that," Morgana winked craftily. "But the most important thing you can remember about being a Dragon is this: it doesn't matter what magic comes easiest to you. What matters is that you always try to discover something new, and always think bigger."

She rose and held out her hand. "The Minevar may have been of Earth, but he always wanted to see the stars."

And together the sisters descended to join the party for dinner.


	8. Dinner And Dancing

Morgana and Leyna met Anika just outside the the hall where the party had gathered that night. Anika was radiantly happy: the King had agreed that since everyone was already present, the wedding could be held the very next day. "Now we just have to keep a straight face when they ask is what the rush is all about," she added.

Morgana grimaced a little. "Best go in before they miss us, then." She smiled down at Leyna and squeezed her hand. "Come on, let's have some fun."

Dinner went along quite smoothly, but of course it was the party afterwards that was the most trying. Carl and Anika tried so hard to stay together, but they were continually pulled apart by one group of people or another. Morgana strolled about the room comfortably, looking for a fight. She could feel the gossips from across the room, and a sisterly protective feeling was clawing its way out of her. It wasn't long before she passed a circle of prime targets for her bile.

"Can you believe King Gustaf would let his son marry a foreigner?"

A Dowager duchess shook her head despondently. "And a girl with no possible political connection. Did you hear, her people destroyed themselves in a terrible civil war?"

"I heard they were witches," someone else added. "Imagine that, a witch marrying into a royal family. I wonder if she hasn't put them under a spell."

"I wonder what the rush is all about."

"That would be my fault, I'm afraid," Morgana slipped into the conversation effortlessly, stepping into their circle, "My tutor has taken terribly ill, he sent his best apprentice here to retrieve me as soon as I was able to return - he arrived earlier this evening."

Her smile, her poise, all her manner was so polished and genteel, and yet they sensed a dangerous undercurrent that dared them to say another word.

"Duchess, it's good to see you in such fine health," Morgana continued sweetly.

"Why, thank you, Morgana. You're looking rather pale, yourself. Are we to expect you to be married soon?"

Morgana seemed surprised by the question. "Let me assure you, Duchess, your son is safe from me," she replied with emphatic sincerity. Anika, standing just a few yards away, suppressed a giggle.

"You don't say," came the threatening response. But before Morgana could answer, Anika excused herself and took her arm as she passed.

"Really, Morgana? You're absolutely terrifying."

"That witch deserved nothing less than a comment on the fact that her son is generally safe from everyone. The Weseltons are weasels beyond imagining, and it runs in the family. King Gustaf will never let them trade with Arendelle."

"Morgana - that 'witch' married into the Weselton family, that doesn't make her one of them."

"No -" Morgana stopped Anika quickly. "Anuk, know who you're dealing with. Weselton was a good name until she married into it. She's an ambitious woman, and I can't fault her for that, but she's buried her humble past in mockery and snobbery, and she now stands on the backs of all the other ambitious people she destroys to keep her place. She's not one of them, she never was. She is all of them now. But enough of this now - let's dance."

Anika quickly vanished into the crowd to find Carl, and Morgana accepted the hand of the first gentleman who offered to dance. Halfway about the dance floor however, someone tapped his shoulder and asked to cut in.

"Merlin," Morgana breathed a sigh of relief. "This is what I don't miss when I'm away from home."

"What, dancing?" he asked.

"No, politics."

"Ah. I've never danced with a real partner before."

"You haven't?" Morgana looked at him suspiciously. "You dance rather well, though, I must say."

"It's easy enough to conjure a partner, but it's not easy to find a good one. You're rather good."

"One of those things they teach you when they elevate your parents to the status of Lord and Lady, Advisors to the King," Morgana replied. "Don't you find it a bit boring, though?"

"You think it's boring?"

"Well," Morgana said thoughtfully, gently guiding him off the main floor and toward the curtained corner by the windows. "I really think," she was saying, "it's better with one's feet off the ground. Don't you agree?"

Merlin caught her drift. "Where shall we go?"

"I know a good rooftop," she said, "where you can hear the music as if it were all around you."

* * *

><p>Carl and Anika watched her younger sister dance out with the handsome young magician, smiling as they, too, exchanged glances, and decided to flee. King Gustaf, out of the corner of his eye, saw them exit the room and shook his head resignedly, remembering what it was like to be young and very much in love. And he knew just where they were going.<p>

"I've never been here before," Anika said as she stepped out onto the balcony, looking up at the stars.

"It used to be my favourite place," Carl told her, "I used to dream of flying from here one day, above the city, at night. I wanted to look down at the lights in the windows, and glide over the sea."

Anika looked over at his dreamy face, the burst out laughing.

"What?" Carl exclaimed, a little hurt, but Anika shook her head and pointed past his left ear.

"Look over there at that roof," she gasped, still giggling.

Carl turned slowly, then doubled over laughing himself. "You can actually do that?" he exclaimed.

"That's the great thing about magic, you never know what you can do. Anything's possible," Anika said, watching her sister and Merlin floating in midair, dancing. "Do you still want to fly?"

Carl looked back at her. "It's not safe, is it?"

Anika shrugged. "I'd never let you fall."

There she was, his lovely fiancé, beautiful as the earliest days of spring, standing beside him on a balcony and offering to show him a bird's-eye view of his kingdom. "I trust you," he said.

Anika stepped forward and kissed him, and he felt a sudden lightness, as if the world had fallen away. Before he knew it, they too were floating in the air. The most frightening moment was when Anika let go, but when he realised he was still floating, he watched her for a cue. She nodded, spread her arms, and pushed off from the ground. "It's just like swimming," she assured him, "perfectly intuitive."

* * *

><p>The music faded slowly, and Merlin gingerly set them both back down on the roof.<p>

"I hear you're leaving after the wedding."

"A merchant came to see me. His daughter was kidnapped earlier today. He thinks a slave trader named Zayir took her," Morgana said. "They didn't find her in the city."

"So you're going to search for a slave trader's ship, board it, sail with him down to Agrabah, and escape with the girl?"

"That sounds awfully complicated," Morgana laughed. "I thought he had to be anchored close by, at least a few hours' journey, maybe even a day away. I suppose we could travel to Agrabah instead and buy the girl there ourselves."

But Merlin shook his head. "This Zayir, you can't just buy the girl from him. He only sells to certain customers."

"And how do you know these things?"

"Master Yen was leaving for Agrabah, he was looking for a ship to take him there, but decided to travel on his own after he found the only ship anywhere near us was a slave trader's vessel. He cursed it, it seems."

"He did what? And what's a ship from Agrabah doing so far up north anyway?"

"He tried to trade old magical artifacts with Master Yen - some old odds and ends and Dragon artifacts for jewels from the mountain. Black onyx sells for quite a lot in some places. But when Master Yen found out he traded slaves, he cursed the captain, so that he always runs into his enemies and never profits from trading lives. I guess the curse hasn't held."

"Not necessarily," Morgana remarked. "Dragons never had much use for curses, but sometimes they take a while to catch up. He stole the Heart of the Sea, after all. When he took the girl, she had it with her. I can't imagine he'd let her keep it."

"Sounds like that could get messy. But if I'm right, we could catch up to him in the next city he'll stop at."

"And what then? Take her from the ship, leave the other slaves?"

Merlin shook his head. "Not at all. We board, free the others when we get a chance."

"How do you propose we board?"

Merlin shrugged. "You know how to hide, don't you?"

"She does," Miranda's voice reached them from across the roof.

"Mum, we were just -"

"Dancing. I know. Looked good, too. Morgana, go find Anuk, please, the King wants to speak to her."

Morgana bowed and withdrew.

"Now, you, young fellow," Miranda turned to Merlin. He opened his mouth to apologise, but she gently laid a hand on his shoulder. "Relax. I don't particularly want Morgana out there on her own, but if you go with her, I won't object to it. Take good care of her until you get to Agrabah. I understand Master Yen is there on holiday now. Personally, I'd like nothing more than to ruin it for him. As his apprentice, I'm sure you understand," Miranda said, and winked.


	9. The Slave Girl Morgiana

On a ship full of people, most in chains, Morgana stood out in her heavily embroidered, dark blue dress. She was clearly meant to fetch a high price, and though she kept her head and face covered, a few stray strands of hair revealed the precise reason: auburn hair was a rare thing. She was one of the few who walked freely about the ship: the trader would have no marks of chains upon the most prized of his cargo, and if they should throw themselves overboard - so much the worse for them.

Merlin couldn't help but think to himself how truly beautiful she looked, though he knew just what fate she had been dressed up for. On the other hand, it had brought her quite close to Agatha. It turned out that blondes also fetched a high price at market, and Agatha had been dressed in a somewhat more innocent blue. Beside her, Morgana was a rather dangerous-looking beauty. Knowing her capabilities, anyone would say that were true.

She'd called herself Morgiana and disguised her features lightly, but few knew exactly what the mysterious middle sister of the Arendelle Dragons looked like. Merlin proved an able sailor, and was quick to prove his ready wit. Morgiana, meanwhile, approached the other slaves and asked them who they were, where they were from.

On his last stop, Zayir returned with only a handful of people, among them a young boy and his father, who was clearly ill. 'Morgiana' instantly approached them, and offered to take care of them.

"Thank you for your kindness," the father said. "My name is Baba Mustapha, and this is my son, Aladdin."

Morgiana smiled at the boy and helped them to a bench. "Where are you from?" she asked, sitting down at their feet.

"We are originally from Agrabah. A few years ago, I came here, to Avalon, looking for a treatment for my illness."

Morgan looked up at him with a slight smile. Avalon, the dream of all Healers - what young Dragon did not want to someday see that place? Avalon had devoted itself solely to healing while the Dragons sought to advance all arts. But even though the Dragons had outstripped them, they spoke of the Avalon Healers with great respect.

It didn't much matter now, of course, who had been more advanced. After all, her people were gone.

"Did they help?"

"Yes, a little. I've made a very slow recovery." He sighed heavily. "I suppose, at least, now we're heading home again."

"You'll make it home, I promise," Morgiana told him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Merlin signing at her from across the deck.

"Well?" she whispered, walking over to him - to look out at the waves, presumably.

"There's enough ill will amongst the crew to spark a mutiny," he told her. "Turns out, his luck hasn't been good. This is a larger number of people than he's ever dealt with because he's in trouble. He hasn't paid the crew's wages for months."

"You think you can get them to turn?"

"Probably," Merlin agreed, "it won't take much."

"There's a place here off the coast, not far from Agrabah, it's plagued by constant storms. I could raise one, wreck the ship."

"That's risky, Morgana."

"Risky, but I can run her aground neatly, disable her. No one has to get hurt."

"Maybe you could ask your aunt for help," Merlin quipped dryly.

"Very funny. But not the worst idea." As she considered it, Morgana took a pin from her hair and dropped it into the water below.

"Is that supposed to be a message?"

Morgana shrugged. "I guess we'll see. It's still a few hours away. I'll warn Agatha."

* * *

><p>Agatha was not particularly pleased to hear the news. "So you're going to run the ship aground, stage a mutiny, and then free the slaves. Morgana, really, it's a good plan - until we need to barter passage back to Arendelle."<p>

"Yes, I know - but, fortunately, we're the only ones who have to barter passage back to Arendelle. You, me, and Merlin. I'm sure we can figure out how to get back."

Agatha sighed. "I was supposed to be married by now. How do you plan to run the ship aground without hurting anyone?"

Morgana threw up her hands.

"Oh - right, I forgot. Magic."

"Exactly. Agatha, if I knew a better way to get you off this ship and back home, I'd do it. But believe me, I'd come back here for the others. Your father came to me and asked for my help. There is a little boy on this ship, and I promised him and his father to get him home too."

"You make too many promises, Morgana."

"None I cannot keep," she replied. "But I'll need your help."

"With what? I can't raise a storm, and I certainly can't start a mutiny."

Morgana laughed. "Actually, both are really easy. First you insult Ursula, call her a dirty fishwife or a pirate's wench - it always does the trick. Then you sit down with the crew and get them talking about themselves, their dreams, their hopes. Preferably, remind them gently that they have no money, or ask them about their captain. But I'm afraid their litany of grievances is hardly one for a lady's ears."

"You don't strike me as someone who cares much for being a lady," Agatha remarked.

"Trust me, cursing like a sailor isn't on the list of my ambitions," Morgana assured her. "Moreover, it's an easy thing to learn. Now, come on, it'll be night soon, and there's a storm coming. Get everyone into the hold - any excuse will do, a game, songs, storytelling."

Agatha quickly set about gathering the others, while Morgana returned to the ship's stern. After a few minutes, she heard her aunt's voice over her ear. "Fishwife, pirate's wench? Nice touch, very subtle."

"I imagine you've heard worse."

"Why should I help you?"

"He's a slave trader. Or do you not care who passes over your head anymore? I'm sure he's sent innocent people down to your depths before, just because he thought they were ill with some contagion that would wipe out his earnings for the next year."

"Morgana, sinking one ship like this won't stop him forever, he'll just get another one and start over."

"He has the Heart of the Sea, he stole it from one of his slaves. His time's run out."

Ursula considered. "Do you know, it was once given to him as a gift?"

"I guess he never considered the repercussions of taking it back once it was lost to him."

"Alright, call up a storm, I'll help you beach the ship."

"Thank you, Aunt."

"And don't call me a fishwife."

Morgana sighed and eyed a black herd of clouds gathering on the horizon - promising candidates for starting a powerful storm. She felt a tingling in her palms as her magic strained against her control, aching to break free and mix with the rain and wind. She reigned it in, waiting as she watched the blackness massing in the distance. This would be a tempest to remember.


	10. The Forty Thieves

Between the storm and the subsequent mutiny on the shore, the shipwreck was a runaway success. The ship had run aground and sprung a slow leak, adding urgency to Morgana's effort to get the slaves off the ship. She broke the chains and shepherded them out of the hold and onto the shore with the crew's help. And as Zayir tried to take charge of the situation the following morning, he was greeted with general ill will. What Morgana and Merlin hadn't accounted for, however, was the sudden appearance of the Forty Thieves.

They looked dark and grey, faded, somehow, and instinctively Morgana shrank back from them, pulling Merlin along with her into the shadow of the ship's side.

"Zayir," their leader called out, "Zayir, is that you?"

"What are they?" Merlin asked under his breath.

Morgana shook her head. "That's Blackwater poisoning. The ones who drink it can use magic, immortality, even - but it warps their minds. Their leader - he hates Dragons. And all of his thirty-nine thieves, they hate him. I felt it only once, when the renegade Dragons came back to the city. I didn't understand why, no Dragon ever hated another. We understood each other too well."

"We should get out of here," Merlin said.

Morgana nodded. "Wise words, but unfortunately I don't think it's possible."

"Do you think he'll know we are Dragons?"

Morgana looked up at him and considered for a moment. "I rather hope Zayir is the more interesting subject at the moment."

Zayir, it turned out, was a subject of great interest to them. Morgana knew little of Ismail, but Blackwater and darkness aside, at least he had one point in his favour: he hated slave trade. Finally Ismail pulled Zayir into a chokehold, and seeing that none of the crew moved to help him, laughed.

"Those of you who were to be sold as slaves, listen closely. You have a choice. Run to the nearest village. Those who reach it by nightfall are free men and women. But if you do not make it, or if you do not run, we will sell you ourselves, to pay off this man's debts. And to those of you who are on his crew: you stay where you are. You would have sold these people. You took part in conveying them here, tearing them from their homes and families. But you are also mutineers, and for that, you must pay as well. Now, the rest of you: run!"

No one moved at first. Morgana and Merlin froze, staring at each other.

"I'll stay," Merlin told her. "It'll be alright, I'll just slip away at night. Go with Agatha."

"Run!" Ismail yelled.

They ran, at least the ones who could. Morgana rapidly scanned the crowd for the ones falling behind, and her eyes first alighted on Baba Mustapha limping along, and his son following him uncertainly. Agatha had seen them as well, and doubled back. Morgana caught up to them quickly.

"Agatha, take the boy, I'll help him," she ordered, wrapped the father's arm around her shoulders. "Now, try and remember how it used to feel, what it was like to run, when you were a boy," she whispered. Their feet lifted slightly from the ground, and Morgana set off keeping to Agatha's pace. They rounded up a few other stragglers as they went, and reached the outskirts of a small village by nightfall. The villagers welcomed them cautiously at first, but one of them stepped closer and peered through the gloom.

"Baba Mustapha, is that you, old friend?"

"Cassim!"

Cassim laughed, relieved. "They're friends, don't worry, they're friends! Mustapha, where have you been all this time?"

"Listen, Cassim, we were all taken by the slave trader Zayir. But these women, Morgiana and Agatha, they helped us escape," he told them.

"You have saved a worthy man, and my good friend. And this is my brother, Ali Baba."

Ali Baba stepped forward. "Welcome to Agrabah. You are well met for your kindness."

The few people who had come with them at last breathed a sigh of relief, for they were free. One or two had homes nearby, and not a few miles away there was a port - the possibility of returning home was refreshing. Ali Baba approached Morgiana and Agatha and asked them if they too would be leaving.

"One of our party was left behind," Morgiana replied. Agatha started, but said nothing.

"Please, let us help you in some way," he said. "We are poor, and we don't have much to offer, but as you will likely still be considered slaves, it would be better if you stayed with us for a time."

Agatha agreed hurriedly. "Who knows," she told Morgana under her breath, "your friend might still catch up."

* * *

><p>The Forty Thieves bound their prisoners together in chains and ushered them into the Jewelled Caves, then left them there. They took care, given the obvious animosity between the captain and his crew, to keep Zayir away from them. Eventually, as the night wore on and the Thieves did not return, the sailors took to bickering and arguing, and at length began to doze off. They had not slept two days now - Morgana's storm had kept everyone afoot. Merlin, however, fought to stay awake. He had but to wait for the sound of heavy even breathing, and then he could slip away.<p>

Unfortunately he realised he wasn't the only with such a plan: the moment he'd worked himself free and crept a few meters away in the dark, in the direction in which he believed the exit lay, he felt the sharp point of a knife softly tap him in the back.

"Well, youngster, let's get out of here," Zayir hissed over his ear. Merlin stood rooted to the spot, quickly wondering what he could possibly do, but the knife jabbed at him insistently as he took too long to decide, so he began to walk.

"What do you want with me?" he asked, as they snuck out of the cave and onto the moonlit beach.

"Simple," Zayir replied, "I haven't paid my crew in eight months. You, on the other hand, I haven't paid for about a week's work. They've sailed with me for years, they have plenty to hold against me. You - only a week."

Merlin nodded. "I see. And where do you intend to go?"

"There's a port, not far from here. You will take me there, and get me aboard a ship."

"Where does it sail to?"

"Doesn't matter. Away from them. Now move!" Zayir held onto Merlin's shoulder tightly and pressed the knife more firmly against his back.

He walked until sunrise, and by then they could see the port. If only he had known that but a few miles away, Morgana was watching the desert for his return.


	11. The Jewelled Caves

Morgana and Agatha stayed for three nights, helping the brothers about the house and looking after Mustapha and his son, Aladdin. Morgana stood watch every night, hoping to see Merlin returning from the desert. On the third night, the dust rose in the distance as it would about someone riding to the village, but as the figure approached, Morgana realised it was not Merlin at all, and concealed herself quickly.

It was Ali Baba, and he carried a heavy satchel. He dismounted, and as he lowered the load gently onto the ground, Morgana heard the clink of gold, and observe with interest that she saw no other bag. How much could you take in a bag? But a voice in her mind countered, just enough to support yourself and your family.

She knew the legends of the Jewelled Caves, the stories of how only the worthy could take riches from it, and smiled. In the few days she had stayed with the brothers, she had seen both to be kind and hardworking, but destitute. If anyone should have been able to take a bag of gold from the Caves to support their family, it had to be one of them.

Morgana would have crept back to her bed right then, but as Ali Baba opened the satchel, a dark blue jewel fell from the folds. She looked quickly at his face, barely illuminated by the lamp. Judging by the look of surprise she read there, he hadn't intended to take it - and what did he need with jewels anyway, there was hardly anyone to sell it to for miles.

The Heart of the Sea occasionally chose a new master, and though Morgana was worried by its reappearance, she decided to hope that the damn thing wouldn't consider itself stolen from a den of thieves. And then she apologised mentally for her disrespectful tone toward the thing, but it had caused a lot of people an awful lot of trouble.

The next day, Ali Baba paid off a few of his debts discreetly, but try as one might to be discreet in a small town, word gets around. Ali even lent a small sum to Mustapha to help him set up his tailor shop again. Cassim, however, seemed displeased with his brother's use of the money. Morgana and Agatha heard the brothers arguing all day, though they stayed outside and well out of earshot.

But that night, as Agatha slept, Morgana resumed her vigil. Merlin had been close - four nights ago she had been sure of that. But now she went outside to look at the stars. They looked different, not like the sky of Arendelle. This was the sky she had been born under, and she missed it more than she would ever admit.

"And where are you going at this hour of night?"

Cassim spun around in the direction of the voice, and saw Morgana leaning against the doorway, watching him curiously.

"Just - out, for a ride."

"With all those bags?"

Cassim was beginning to feel a completely inexplicable impulse to tell her the truth. Morgana and her sisters had perfected the technique years ago, and often found it a useful mind trick. "When Ali brought back that gold, he only brought it back for us," he said, "but what about all our friends? What about all the other people in this town who are ill and poor, who can't take care of themselves? I have to help them, if I can."

Morgana nodded. Now, at least, it was clear what the brothers had been fighting about.

"I understand you want to help them, but creeping into the lair of the Forty Thieves to do so hardly seems the right way to do it. Can't you find a better way to help them, Cassim? Silver and gold and precious stones can't solve all their problems. And who knows what else you'll find in that cave. Made by Dragons with magic so old, with no one left in the world who can truly understand it - you don't know what you could be walking into."

"Oh, believe me, I've seen my share of Dragon Magic. A lot of people were hurt in that war, and even your people were responsible. They are your people, aren't they, Morgiana?"

Morgana bowed her head. "It wasn't our war, we would have stayed out of it if it hadn't been for several hundred innocent people gathered around our city."

"That city could survive ten thousand years of siege. You could have brought them inside!"

Morgana was visibly moved, and bit her lip rather hard. "I'm coming with you," she said decisively.

"Why? Is this your idea of paying for their mistakes?"

Morgana scoffed. "All the people who could pay for that are a long time dead. But I believe in the reason you gave me."

* * *

><p>They rode in silence until they reached the familiar shoreline, where traces of the wreckage still lay. Morgana looked to the cliffs, not very high or impressive ones, but ones that concealed a cave of wonders. She knew exactly what to look for - the mark of the Minevar's handiwork, as familiar to her as her own. "In there," she pointed at an ordinary fissure in the cliff face.<p>

"How can you possibly know that?" Cassim asked, astonished.

"Dragon. You're the one who said it. How could you tell, anyway?"

"Come, now, Morgiana: Baba Mustapha hasn't been able to run in over thirty years, and the others said he ran like a boy beside you. And you don't walk."

"What do you mean, I don't walk?" she cried indignantly and dismounted. "I walk everywhere!"

Cassim laughed heartily. "Morgiana, you walk in sand and in the water, and you love going barefoot. But you don't walk about town: you run everywhere, and yet your shoes are barely worn. Agatha walks along the paved streets, and while she says nothing, it clearly pains her. But most incriminating - lo, on your shoes there's not a speck of dust at all, not from paved roads, not from unpaved, and not even from running in the desert."

Morgana was growing somewhat annoyed by his amusement. "Yes, alright, your point is well taken. Now hush - what if they're in there?"

Cassim bowed in apology and also dismounted, passing the reigns to Morgana who quickly led away the horse.

"What about the bags?" he whispered.

"First let's see that no one is in there, alright?" Morgana snapped in reply. After a few minutes she returned and led him into the cave. A torch sprang to life as she brushed it with her fingertips, illuminating the Jewelled Caves. "Stars above," she muttered, awestruck at the mere ghost of a sight that greeted her eyes in the dim light of the single flame. She raised her hand, and with a gentle motion the other torches flared and sputtered to life.

Cassim cried out. "And they're just sitting on all of this?" he exclaimed, dismayed, then shook his head. "What a waste."

"Indeed," Morgana agreed. "Do you remember the Empire of Salman and Agib?"

"Yes, the Golden Brothers."

"Much of these riches were theirs. I'm amazed they're still here," Morgana marvelled. "Our Minevar - that means 'eldest' - he wanted to establish trade with their empire, and he did, by preventing a coup. But as generations went on, he didn't like the changes he saw in them, and so one day he disrupted the exchange. Most of the riches were hidden away here, so they had little to fall back on. The Empire fell apart, and I suspect partly due to his influence, a kingdom we didn't mind trading with rose in its place."

Cassim gaped as he reviewed his history. "Well, uh - as frightening as that is," he admitted, clearing his throat, "that was not a time I would have liked to live in."

Morgana glanced up at him and grinned. "He was actually very kind, quite apart from politics," she assured him.

"Right."

"What's that up there?" He peered in the direction she was pointing in, above the torchlit room, almost like an entry hall. In the back of the cave, there was a steep rise, and entryways to what appeared to be tunnels further into the darkness. In that darkness, something gently reflected back the firelight.

"Jewels?" He shrugged.

"No. Scales." Morgana handed him the torch and set off.

"Scales?" he repeated under his breath, and followed.

Morgana had gotten well ahead of him. By the time he caught up, she stood staring at something hidden by the gloom.

"What is it? Oh…"

There were no words to describe what he saw. There was nothing in the world that could have prepared a man to see the form that all Dragons could assume, the massive, powerful beast that gave them freedom from all Earthly laws. And he was only looking at its head.

The scales were red and dark as blood, flecked here and there with silver. It lay curled up, its body somewhere in the endless tunnel - though all he could see, for the sheer size of the thing, was the Dragon's head.

"It's the Minevar," Morgana said at last, her voice trembling. He saw tears in her eyes. "He's been trapped here for years, probably since the city fell. I told him not to leave, I asked him."

Cassim thought for a moment. "I thought only the worthy could take something from the caves - is this -?"

"The judge? I suppose. But I don't really think he cares much for that now," she replied, with bottomless grief in her voice. "He's a prisoner here."

She inhaled sharply and dried her eyes. "Go, take what you can. I'll try to wake him up."

"Morgiana, is that wise? He might not like someone disturbing him."

"Normally, I'd say you're right, but this time I would be the one disturbing him - and I am not to be reasoned with -" she snapped as he opened his mouth to speak. His jaw snapped shut, and with a nod he turned back to the litter of gold and jewels below.

"Minevar, can you hear me? Please wake up. It would be easier if I knew your name, but no one does anymore. Please, wake up?" he heard her say. At first he was quite thankful - never question a gift from above, he thought: if the guardian slept, let him sleep. He might still change his mind about letting someone walk out with the loot.

"Minevar? It's me, it's Morgana. You promised you'd teach me how to never get lost in a cave, remember? Please? You promised."

Suddenly he heard a deep rattling, and the stirring of something large - unimaginably large. A glowing fog filled the tunnel above him, and as it faded he saw - not a Dragon, but a weakened old man, starved, emaciated, clinging to the strong young girl's shoulders.

"Morgana! You're really here!" He must have wanted to shout and cheer and dance, but his voice sounded as though he hadn't spoken in years. Morgana couldn't stop herself from crying any longer, and pulled him toward her, crying into his shoulder as she held him. "There, now, Little Dragon. Better me than you, after all."

Suddenly they heard the sound of voices. The Minevar gently pushed Morgana up. "Ismail. He's back - still on the shore. You'd better hide. Better yet, stay up here - he doesn't mind me anymore."

Morgana nodded. "Cassim," she called down in a whisper, "Cassim, get up here, I'll douse the torches. Quickly!"

He turned and bolted up the slope, but Morgana, for all her urging, was forced to snuff out the light before he got to them - the thieves were just entering. All would have gone well enough, but that Cassim lost his footing and lost balance, falling to the ground with a resounding crash. Morgana and the Minevar crouched behind pillars of rock above, holding their breath, staring at each other grimly in the dark.


	12. The Blackwater Curse

A silence fell over the Forty Thieves as they stopped short in the entryway. Cassim froze and lay low.

"Could that have been you?" Morgana mouthed at the Minevar inaudibly.

"Not likely," he whispered back to her sadly. "No treasures up here, not for many miles behind me."

"There's more? Good grief."

"I keep the magical things in the back, to keep from them. They think nothing of it. Someone spread an apocryphal legend, and now they assume that all Dragons hoard things, can't think why."

The torches were lit anew, and though Cassim should have been impossible to spot behind the heap of riches where he hid, the Forty Thieves, ghostly grey men, their wasted beings suffused with magic, seemed to see right through the piles of riches. They dragged him out of his hiding place as the Minevar signed to Morgana not to move. A single Dragon against forty such beings, even with what little help he could offer in this state, was not likely to last long.

"So we have a rat in our den - well, well," Ismail mused, staring down at his new captive. "Were you stealing from me?" he asked sweetly.

Morgana shuddered. The last thing he would do was spare an intruder, neither a thief nor an honest man. But Cassim, being no fool, had another reply at the ready.

"King of Thieves, I wish only to join your number, and serve you, so long as I live."

The Minevar nodded approvingly.

"Is that so?" Ismail appeared to be somewhat amused by the declaration. "Very well, I accept your services. But, of course, you understand, there can only be Forty Thieves," he added.

Morgana shot a glare in the Minevar's direction, but he merely tipped his head and signed to her that he'd accounted for this caveat.

"A duel to the death," Ismail continued below, "and we are very hard to kill."

"At least they don't send them to me anymore," the old Dragon sighed. "Come closer, Morgana, this is important."

* * *

><p>Miranda and Ben picked their way carefully through the Blackwater Caves. The Minevar had taught them how not to get lost, moving according to temperature and dampness, figuring depth by rock type, figuring rock type by echo and feel. They were following the water itself to its supposed source, and at the end of this tunnel they had found a great cavern, housing a subterranean lake, its surface still as black glass. The cavern was enticingly cool, and in spite of its morbid look, there was something welcoming about it: the presence of old magic, Earth Magic. No wonder the Minevar felt at home.<p>

As they approached, the two Dragons slowed their pace. There was a light in the cavern, but they had never needed light to see in the dark. As they approached, the Minevar came into view, halfway along the shelf that surrounded the lake to the other side cavern. He was not alone: before him stood the Guardian of the Blackwater.

He was talking to her - or, rather, the Guardian spoke every now and then, but the Minevar constantly muttered and mumbled unintelligible things. These were numbers and symbols, like jumbled equations, and letters and words and colours. And as he at last fell silent, the Guardian smiled, bowed, and sank beneath the surface of the lake.

"Ah!" He caught sight of them in the cavern and instantly leaped to his feet, hurrying toward them. "Miranda, Ben, I've got it!" he chattered excitedly, "I have the key!"

"What key?" she asked, more confused by the rapid change that had come over him than by the odd rambling. The Minevar, she was convinced, often seemed mad and old and utterly discombobulated, but was always perfectly aware of what he was doing - just not always able simultaneously take the pulse of all the things rushing through his head concurrently. She'd listened in before, when he seemed deeply engrossed in his thoughts, and heard chaos that slowly, patiently evolved into a fugue of astronomical proportions. He made order from chaos, with the patience of the Earth itself.

"The key to Blackwater!" he cried. "Of course! The most destructive thing in the world, Miranda, what do you think that is? Hm?"

Miranda stuttered, but Ben answered without fail: "Regret."

"Yes, yes - regret. It ruins our lives, we trap ourselves in the past instead of looking to the future!"

Miranda nodded slowly, then shrugged. "Alright, that's simple enough. But how does that help, exactly? We can't build a city on regret."

The Minevar laughed. "Fair is fair, we really can't. But we can use the magic to run the city. We'd have to convert it into other forms. But that comes later. We need - a cure for regret."

Ben sighed heavily. "Just another day in the pursuit of magic. How can you cure regret without taking away the bad memories?"

The Minevar was smiling at them, with a cunning look in his eyes, as if he already knew the answer.

"There's probably no way to do that," he admitted. "But we don't need to cure it, perhaps, if we can prevent it. Many things can happen in the future that can make regret a impossible to feel."

"So we look into the future to prevent ourselves from regretting the past?" Miranda asked. "That's a costly exchange. We don't have any way to see the future."

"I do," the Minevar sang cheerily. "The rest need only believe, but I can see all possible futures -"

"Both good and bad," Ben noted. He was probably the only one who had ever interrupted the old Dragon, and gotten away unscathed.

"Even in the worst of times, if there is one good outcome, no matter how unlikely, there is hope."

* * *

><p>Cassim was clearly struggling. He'd lead the King's champion on a chase through the cave, up to the tunnels where he hoped the Minevar and Morgana might help him, then slipped again rather unfortunately and slid out of sight into darkness. "Not yet," the Minevar hissed, holding Morgana back as the thief passed, then sent her into the other tunnel, which seemed to lead upward. Morgana shot him a glare over her shoulder, but he waved her on. "Third opening on your right," he added, and gave her a gentle push.<p>

The third passage on the right led below, and spiraled sharply. Moments later, Morgana found herself at the base of a steep slope, water burbling along in a quiet stream. "Cassim?" she whispered, not daring to call out. She found him soon enough, and hearing the approach of the thief, pulled him roughly to his feet and out of sight behind the rock. "You need help," she told him.

"What a marvellous idea, Morgiana, did you just think that up now?" he snapped.

"Ah, so you do remember they're hard to kill?"

"Hard! Try impossible."

"Unless you break the curse," she muttered, shooting furtive looks around the rocks.

"Say again? Or better yet, don't, just explain to me how you propose to do that."

"Find his worst memory and take it from him. Should be easy enough, Blackwater keeps those memories fairly close to the surface."

Cassim stared, forgetting completely that they were hiding, and what they were hiding from. "Your people are truly frightening," he said aloud.

Morgana turned to him, somewhat stunned. "Why?" she asked. "We survived."

In that moment the most murderous of thieves found them.

* * *

><p>Cassim clambered out of the tunnels and back into the chamber where the thieves stowed their riches. The thirty-nine instantly fell silent, and stared up at him. Ismail didn't seem inclined to believe it.<p>

"Minevar," he called softly, "Minevar, say, old friend, did this fellow really best my champion?"

The Old Dragon shuffled forward, stopping just shy of the light, and answered, "Yes, Ismail. This man is the only survivor."

Ismail turned back to Cassim, impressed. "Well, I must say, there are few whom the Minevar chooses to assist in destroying my men. But very well: you are welcome in our circle."

Behind them Morgana slunk through the shadows and rejoined the old man, watching Cassim as he descended to the welcoming King of Thieves.


	13. The Fall Began Outside The City

Cloaked in black, the King of Thieves walked into the Outsiders' settlement in broad daylight. He seemed to glide along the hot desert sand, as if he were weightless and the sun were somehow blind to his existence. He walked up to a door, knocked, and asked the mistress for a glass of water. Others knew him as the King of Thieves, maybe, but she only saw a tattered stranger, worn and haggard from his wanderings in the treacherous desert, and the poor woman invited him to step inside.

"Been here long?" he asked, casting a casual glance about the hut.

"No," the lady replied cheerily, "not long. Just a month."

"I see," the stranger replied. "Running from the war?" he asked casually, though there was nothing casual in that question.

"Not anymore," his hostess chirped without missing a beat. But something in that dark, towering, wasted man urged and even begged her to reach out to him, to tell him that she, too, had seen unbearable misery, and would never be free of that. She sensed an undercurrent of malice in him as well, the kind that might not forgive a lie.

"They burned our village," she began at length, "they kept only the best houses and burned the rest. They slew the livestock and burned the fields. When they first came into the town, the men stood their ground, but they brought forth weeping maidens and swore to kill one every day if we did not give ourselves up."

"How many maidens did they kill?" the shadowy man asked softly.

"None," the woman said boldly, a proud fire blazing in her eyes as her face twisted in grief. "They killed all our men. All the ones who did not run."

The stranger nodded, released a drawn-out sigh and shook back his hood. Even in the dim light creeping in from the shuttered windows, his was a pale and noble face. "My own town stood against those bandits, when I was a boy. They killed all the maidens, and we watched. We watched," he muttered, "and waited until there were no more to kill."

"And then they attacked?"

"No. Not at all. They set the Forty Thieves on us. Those men didn't fight like the others, you know. They came out of the dark, then melted back into it, and you never knew when or where they'd strike."

His hostess sighed and dropped onto a seat beside him. "We thought we might be safe, here, at the feet of Dragons. But it seems that we are indeed only at their feet, for they could never see us as their equals."

"And you think they will protect you when the time comes?"

She shook her head despondently. "I don't know, stranger. We came here because we believed in their wisdom, but they are hardly welcoming. Certainly, a few of them have left the city and live among us, and we are grateful for their help."

"But how can it be that there is no place in the city for you?" he asked.

"What would we do in that city? We are farmers, not craftsmen. I have seen what their artisans do, and we could never match their work. I only fear that they forget we cannot survive what they can."

"This has been a very dry year, hasn't it?"

"It has. There was a terrible flood a little while ago, and not a drop for months before or since. How long have you been walking through the desert?"

"Not long," the man answered, leaning back exhaustedly. "I came from the banks of the Blue Serpentine, as your people did. The City of the Moon has fallen."

"Fallen? How could that city fall?" She looked up at him, terrified.

"They were besieged for months," he explained. "Many long months the people inside were starved, the strong men defending her were cut down by disease."

"But how can that be? It was a fortress, impregnable."

"No fortress is without a weakness, not even the Dragon City. And no walls hold against the Forty Thieves. You see, they now control the new empire, and the King of Thieves will rule this land. I came here, hostess, to warn you of what is coming." He rose and smoothed out his dusty cloak. "Thank you for your hospitality, but I'd best be going on my way."

He left the poor woman sitting with a heavy heart at her table, suddenly feeling the full weight of the horrors she escaped and the horrible fear, so potent it was nearly precognition in her mind, that the Outsiders' settlement was bound to fail.

* * *

><p>Jinna watched the fields grow under the hands of the Earth Masters. She watched the crops shoot up as the Water Elementals brought blue tendrils of water weaving and creeping through the fields. The Air Masters stopped dust storms and moved a welcome wind about the fields, harnessing a stray pack of rain clouds whenever they could.<p>

But she was Fire, and she could work clay and metal like few others. She helped forge shovels and plows and rakes and scythes, she baked urns and bowls, fashioned lamps and carved gourds. For a over year they had lived among the Outsiders, and grown to like them and marvel at their modest achievements and victories. But lately a pall had fallen over their hopeful, close-knit home.

It was easy to understand: they had seen the hottest and driest year in that desert, and apart from the recent deluge from the broken ice dam in the mountains, there hadn't been enough water to support a full crop. Many felt the dark arms of the war reaching for them, and some felt the sting of survivor's guilt. Other refugees and wounded were pouring in still, bringing tidings of burning villages, dead relatives, and disease was growing ever more difficult to treat and control. But most startling of all, Jinna discovered, was that some truly regretted settling here.

This, she could not understand - this land had been hope for them, a haven. And the Dragons, though diffident in their welcome, had never been openly opposed to their presence. Every new day she saw more of them, these hopeless people.

She sighed and stepped back into the field she had been tending to. The Dragons that lived among the Outsiders kept their own homes and land, frequently living in small groups. Jinna lived with Master Duban, the best Healer the Dragons had ever seen. When he left the Red City, she thought that should have sparked something in the Council of the Wise, and prompted them to reconsider their decision to ignore the Outside settlement. All they had to do was to teach the refugees how to make use of the tools the Dragons could provide, but the Council simply let their people go. They branded them Renegades the moment they set foot outside the city.

Now, though, Jinna wondered if perhaps they had been right to do so. Regret was a dangerous thing, so close to Blackwater. They had always looked to the Future, extracting only the lessons taught by their mistakes from the Past. The very purpose of the Dragons' discoveries, their survival, had always been to ensure their future, for their children: "For them - the world, and all its wonders."

Magical discovery was crucial: its result was almost always reaffirming, for some, even euphoric. _Magic yearns to be used_, the Minevar had explained to all the youngsters. It enjoys being turned and twisted in new and innovative ways, and strengthens the user in return. Once a Dragon made a certain discovery in their Element, it became part of the Dragon collective, and another Dragon could call that skill into use. Thus it was possible for a Water Elemental to raise a forest - a drastic move, but the very same that had brought the Infinite Forest into existence. The Infinite Forest had been their first experiment with folding space, and overall a successful one. In this manner, unplanned magical acts of a massive scale could be conceived, drawing on the power of all the Dragons, rather than forcing a single Dragon to channel an alien Element.

Jinna sighed, walking toward the still figure of Master Duban in the distance, his stiff back outlined against the evening sun. He turned his head a little when she called him, then looked back.

"What do you make of the refugees?" she asked, coming up beside him.

"What are you asking?"

"You don't find them a little - blue?"

"Blue?" he exclaimed, almost laughing, but he certainly didn't seem amused. "Jinna, are you worried about Blackwater?"

"Aren't you? I've heard rumours of a force massing in the east, and heading toward us. They mean to destroy the settlement, perhaps even take the Red City."

Duban shook his head without a hint of worry. "They will never take the Red City."

"But what about the ones outside the City?"

"The Dragons will defend them," Duban answered simply.

Jinna gave him a piercing look. "Will they?"

The Healer stepped back in his astonishment. "Jinna!"

"They're beginning to doubt us. And frankly since we were branded 'The Renegades', I'm beginning wonder the same thing myself."

Duban shrugged. "I trust that there are enough allies yet within the City."

"And how long do we have, with only a few on our side? It's bad enough the Forty Thieves seem to be in control of the army now."

"How do you know that?"

"A stranger came to the settlement to warn the refugees, they've been abuzz ever since."

Duban gave her a disapproving look. "Jinna, they could never be in control. No one trusts them, they only fear them."

"They fear them because they are cursed, and almost impossible to kill."

The Healer thought for a moment. "We can use that."

"How?" she asked, startled.

"If they see the Thieves turn on them," he began, letting the idea hang in the air.

"Why would they do that?" Jinna muttered.

"It's possible they wouldn't," Duban allowed, then lowered his voice, speaking over Jinna's ear, "it only has to look like them."

Jinna backed away quickly in alarm. "You can't mean that."

"Why not?"

"How do you expect to fool anyone that way without bloodshed. You'd be killing innocent people."

Duban quickly moved to embrace her, reassuring her, "No, Jinna - not at all. I'm sure something else can be done."

Jinna, still worried, looked away into the desert again, watching the sun set behind the mountains. "We have to go back, Duban. We have to go back into the City and tell the Council. If there is anything we've learned, it's that hopelessness is the first sign of Blackwater poisoning, and there can be nothing worse."

"Of course, my friend. Of course," Duban whispered.

But Duban already knew how coldly Jinna and the others would be greeted in the City. Hopelessness and regret were infectious, and even if they didn't know yet that their minds had been altered by the atmosphere in the settlement, the Council of the Wise would more than certainly sense it. They would avoid the Renegades at all costs, simply to prevent exposure - to survive. Jinna would discover it for herself as she tried in vain to catch the eyes of at least one of them. Even Master Yen looked away uncomfortably.

As she looked about her own number for Duban, she realised that he was not among them, and resigned herself to believing the worst. Perhaps it was a side effect of the hopelessness she had witnessed, but she was certainly not wrong: Duban had gathered a band of Renegades and Outsiders and set out to the Blue Serpentine. Within a few months, most of the support for the Forty Thieves fell away, as if by magic.


	14. The Legend of Ali Baba's Slave Girl

Morgana resumed her seat near the old Dragon and listened as the thieves boasted of their sordid endeavours. As the night wore on, Morgana began to nod off - until the Minevar prodded her sharply, and with good reason: Ali Baba's theft had not gone unnoticed. Morgana listened in as the King of Thieves, who had ears in all the nearby villages, plotted to kill the thief. Cassim kept his nerve somehow, and showed no signs of his dismay.

"I let him go," the Minevar whispered. "Sometimes they get away. Sometimes he finds them."

"Did you give him that jewel?" Morgana asked, with a knowing smile softening her worried expression.

"You know me better than most, Little Dragon. But his own luck put you in his house before he came here. He didn't need my help."

"Everyone can use a little help," she returned, and slipped away into the dark.

Morgana returned before dawn, and took care to mend the tears and scrub out the marks on her costume before she reentered the town. Ali Baba simply assumed that his brother had taken their earlier argument to heart, and had left for a time. He'd be back - he was sure of that.

Morgana resumed her daily duties and warned Agatha that there might be some trouble ahead. Indeed, near midday Agatha heard a scratching at the door and went out to see what it might have been, but saw no one. As she stepped back inside, however, she caught sight of something unusual.

"Morgiana, come look at this," she called, and pointed out a chalk marking on the door.

"Mm," Morgana nodded. "It's thieves' code. This man's house is marked, and they intend to kill him."

Agatha nodded back, not batting an eye. "So Ali Baba, possibly the kindest man in town, or his younger brother - one of them is marked for death," she restated flatly.

"Not Cassim," Morgana sighed, walking back into the house, "they do not know that he is of this house."

"What do you mean, they don't know," Agatha snapped, shutting the door. "Is he - he's not in the Caves, Morgana? - Don't tell me he's there."

"Fine, I won't tell you."

"Hey!"

Morgana spun around and raised her hands in surrender. "They caught him stealing from the Caves, he had to lie about why he came there."

"So he said he wanted to be one of them, is that it?"

Morgana laughed, bizarrely. "Oh, he paid quite lavishly for that lie, I assure you. But for now he's safe from them, at least. Mostly safe. It's easier protecting one man than a whole family."

Agatha paused, nodded once again for luck, and steeled herself for the worst. "So what do we do?"

"Oh, that's simple. Mark all the doors!"

"We can't just go around the town and deface every door," Agatha protested.

"Not going around. Staying right here. We need only a few to be marked with the same symbol."

She quickly marked the neighbouring houses, and a few others on the same street besides.

"That'll keep them away for tonight, at least," Morgana said, returning.

"What's next?" Agatha asked.

"Keep a weather eye open, and we'll find out soon."

Soon enough, they discovered the same marking in their door - carved in deliberately. Morgana shook her head disapprovingly. "Anything they can do, I can do better. Come watch this evening, I'll put on a show."

Morgana certainly did put on a show. She stood in the middle of their street and raised her hands, palms up, before her, raising a swirling blue mist that crawled through the town and marked every door with the same symbol. Agatha sighed, relieved and fascinated.

Cassim watched as the King of Thieves wrapped his hands around the young man's throat. It was the second time they had failed to lead him to the house of the man who stole from him, and now it was the second death. But throttling them was not enough to kill them: the King then took a wavy-shaped dagger from his hip and drew it across the thief's throat. As the body dropped heavily at his feet, he stood deep in thought, as though killing meant nothing to him.

"Cassim," he called, "come here."

Cassim shakily stepped forward.

"Cassim, I have a task for you, to prove yourself a true member of the Forty Thieves. Go into the town and find the house of the man who stole from me. If you fail, you face the same fate as befell these men."

Cassim swallowed painfully, bowed, and left the cave, setting out at a run the moment he saw the light again.

Morgana woke to a desperate hammering at the door that night. Cassim burst in quickly as she opened it, and in a panic, explained that the King had sent him to kill his brother.

"Cassim, please slow down -" Morgana hissed, handing him a conjured glass of water. "What is it, what's wrong?"

"The last two he sent, they failed to mark the right door, and he killed them. This time he sent me, Morgiana - he knows!"

"Peace! He cannot possibly know if he doesn't even know what the right house looks like."

"He'll kill me, Morgiana, he'll kill Ali - all of us!"

"Cassim, wait. Listen to me: go to the King and tell him to come to this house as a lamp oil merchant. Thus the others can be concealed in the oil jars. When all has settled, you must free yourself from the jar and come into the house. Trust me, I can take care of the rest. Now, go."

* * *

><p>That night, as the Thieves lay in wait in oil jars in the stables, Morgana and Agatha set about entertaining the King of Thieves, and plied him with wine until he was drowsy. They told jokes and they danced, and Morgana even sang, and as her beautiful voice took to the air, she wove magic into the tune, singing the King to sleep. He slipped away into darkness, forgetting all about the signal he was to give to his Thieves, all about the world about him, and soon his breath was even and deep.<p>

Then Morgana signaled to Agatha, and the two crept down to the stables. There, they set up a large cauldron and began to boil the lamp oil in it. As Agatha kept watch outside the stables, Morgana closed her eyes and began to mutter softly under her breath. She marked her first victim.

And then, as she stood, a pot of boiling oil in her hands, she found herself in another time, another place altogether. She witnessed a man - her intended victim - strangling his beloved wife for supposedly having deceived him. She then saw the King come up to him out of the darkness once the deed was done, and realised just as the thief had realised, as Ismail looked down coldly at the body, that the King had seduced her. And as she clung to that memory, she followed that link - the regret, the grief, and the misery - through the rest of his life. It had caused him terrible pain, and he had let that pain change him, make him as cold and heartless to all the world. Surely, she thought, with an involuntary gasp, this man deserved a second chance?

But without that memory he would be lost, a voice in her head countered. This, she could not undo, not by stealing that memory from him and making him a mere man again - for without that regret, the Blackwater curse could not hold him. But even his past, before that awful murder, had been completely changed in his mind: it was as though the Blackwater poisoning had become Blackwater madness, and overtaken the whole of his existence. Shaking from head to toe, the poor girl lifted the lid of the jar and poured the boiling oil into it. If there was a solution, a way to save these men, who had been tricked into their awful fate by Ismail, Morgana did not know it yet and would never find in time. As she raised the final lid, she wept quiet tears, mourning the men they had been long ago.


	15. Ismail

The first time he heard the terrible cry of pain in his sleep, he thought it was just another one of his awful dreams. He sensed no sound shake the air quite like that scream would have done, but when another tore through his mind, he jerked awake. He found he could not move, as though some magic had left him paralysed, and for another few minutes he struggled to move, hearing clearly in his mind as each of his thirty-eight thieves - all but one - died a horrible, painful death.

At last, he broke free, and threw himself from the window, certain that the door was probably locked with magic. He ran to the stables, throwing all caution to the winds, and burst through the doors. Morgana had just enough time to help Cassim out of his jar and drag Agatha out of sight. The three crouched down out of sight, and Cassim kept the brave girl quiet, a hand clamped over her mouth, though Agatha would sooner have bitten him than screamed.

Ismail ran from jar to jar, searching for at least one left alive, but found them all burned to death, boiled in oil. Only Cassim was missing. He let out a roar of rage, and stormed straight for the still-hot cauldron, as if to upset the contents onto the stable floor and set fire to the house, but Morgana cried out and rose sharply from her hiding place, keeping Agatha hidden as she did so.

Entering his mind, unguarded from her in a moment of rage, was surprisingly simple. But as she stood in the moment that had pained him through all his life, the overwhelming feeling of discovering that he was really, truly human, stung her yet again. And it was then, standing aboard a ship that pitched and rolled in the blackest sea storm known in history, with a Maelstrom churning round it and threatening to crush the poor vessel in its all-powerful jaws, that Morgana caught sight of someone she had never imagined Ismail might know.

Standing beneath the mainmast, arms raised, head upturned into the rainfall, was her aunt Ursula. Ismail was on his knees, begging her to stop, begging her to listen to him, but she would not hear him. And then an older man, his brother, walked up boldly and tried to shake her, but Ursula darted aside, plucking a wavy dagger that had been hidden at the man's hip. Ismail cried out and leapt between the two, catching her wrist and desperately trying to wrest the dagger from her. But it seemed that Ursula, casting a glance overboard, was satisfied by the power of her ungodly storm, and let go, disappearing into the driving rain.

Ismail lost his footing and fell back, catching hold of the mast. He clung to it, calling her name, but his voice was already spent. His brother was calling him below decks, and when at last the ship righted itself for a rare moment, Ismail let go and ran towards him. The elder brother caught his arms and held him, but just then the ship pitched dangerously once more, and the two fell down the hatch.

Only, there, below decks, as Ismail recovered from the fall, he noticed that his hands were covered in blood. Horrified, he looked to his brother, who had broken his fall, and discovered the dagger thrust into his heart.

What followed was the scream that had haunted Ismail for decades. Morgana gasped, and quickly regained her presence of mind, sending up a splash of oil directly at him. Blinded and in terrible pain, he ran out without a sound and down the street, though he could no longer see where his feet took him.

Morgana collapsed, breathing heavily, and sat for a few moments, hugging her knees as Agatha tried to calm her and ask her what had happened. But she would not say.

* * *

><p>Yen and Jinna strolled through the town in the early hours of the morning, out to see the desert dawn. Together they recalled the old days, the days of the First Dragon City, in the mountains on the other side of the sea.<p>

"You wanted to go back there," Yen was saying. "I didn't understand why."

"But you remember what I said," Jinna noted.

"You wanted to see the flowers that grew from the ashes. I saw them, actually, after the Red City fell. At first I ran as far as I could, into the cold mountain passes in the North. But then I returned to the First Dragon City, thinking of you. You were right, Jinna. It's a field of flowers, and they are beautiful. Much like you," he added, looking down at the lovely Dragon he'd wrapped one protective arm around. Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and as she tipped her head back to look directly at him, Yen leaned in to kiss her.

They wandered towards the shore rather than to the desert, and watched the sun rise along the cliff faces, recalling fondly the first night Dragons had alighted on the unwelcoming shore. They recalled listening to Miranda's tale of the Golden Brothers, Salman and Agib, and their treacherous vizier, Ismail, even though they had been feigning sleep. They remembered how the Red City grew from the ground in the span of a day and a night, spreading slowly around the central Library Tower.

As they walked back into town, Jinna and Yen were aware of no one but each other, not even of the huddled mass of blackened rags in the corner of the town square as they passed.

Ismail, though blind and weakened, could sense magic still, and now even more strongly than before. He sensed the Dragons as they approached, the one that sold magical lamps and pots and another, somewhat alien in these parts. His magic was familiar, very familiar and very much hateful to Ismail. It reminded him strongly of the Minevar, but at the same time it was not the Minevar. It was younger, perhaps even more naive.

He had tried for years to poison the Minevar with Blackwater, and found it nearly impossible to sway the old Dragon even a little into the realm of bitterness, hatred, and regret - the realm that he had occupied so long himself by now. But Ismail knew, the surest way to break the heart of any foe, and especially a Dragon who proved unyielding to almost every other destructive tactic - had to be through family. So with the last of his strength, as the two Dragons approached, laughing and flirting, oblivious to the world around them, the blind man launched himself at them.

Yen immediately pushed Jinna out of Ismail's reach, as expected. But what Ismail did not expect, perhaps, was that in the struggle for the dagger, Yen somehow had the upper hand. The old Dragon mage struggled with the grappling blind man for only a moment, then Ismail fell back with a thin cry into a ragged heap. The dagger, however, was left in Yen's hand. And as Jinna watched, suddenly her beloved trembled, and released a terrible silent scream - silent to the human ear, but awful to another Dragon.

Somewhere, not far away, Morgana stopped short and turned on her heel, peering carefully in the direction whence the cry had come, but she saw nothing. She heard an echoing mournful whimper from somewhere near the caves a moment later - a broken sound, and a cold fear filled her heart.

* * *

><p>The sun had risen on a glorious day in the town, though its golden light had cut painfully into the darkness of the blind wretch huddled in the corner of the main square. Ali Baba's brother Cassim had returned home, and Ali Baba had paid all their debts. That day, Ali and Cassim greeted the two 'slave girls' with wonderful news, telling them that as Zayir had been outlawed, his slaves were no longer to be considered bound by any law, and so they were free to leave. Agatha and Morgana stayed for another day however, tidying up the stables in particular. Morgana placed small charms in various parts of the house, to keep it clean and less in need of care.<p>

As she wandered about the house, putting her gifts to use, she wandered close to an open door and heard a very familiar pair of voices issuing from it. Morgana froze behind the wall, with a slight smile on her face as she involuntarily caught the whispered exchange between Agatha and Ali Baba and stayed to eavesdrop.

"I wish you could stay," Ali was saying.

"My father is worried, I have to go home."

"Would you ever consider returning?" he asked, sounding hopeful.

Agatha paused for a moment, uncertain. "I don't know," she said at last. "I'd like to."

Morgana heard a slight rustle. "Agatha, would you do me the honour of making me the happiest man in this world, and becoming my wife?"

Agatha gasped as her eyes filled with quiet tears. "I'm so sorry, but I can't. As happy as it would make me to stay here with you, and to be your bride, I cannot stay. My father had arranged a marriage to a wealthy family in Arendelle. I'm sorry." She ran out past Morgana, not seeing her at the door.

For a moment, the Dragon watched her run down the hall and vanish past a corner. Then she looked into the room, to see Ali standing very still, staring down at the floor in front of him, looking lost. With light footsteps she walked up to him, and stood silently regarding him. He did not seem to see her at first.

"Ali, listen to me: a ship called _Ursula_ puts into port in a few days' time to refit. Find the ship's captain, his name is Flynnigan Rider, and tell him that Morgana wishes to see him in Arendelle for a wedding."

He looked up at her, not quite understanding. "Has she ever even met him? The man she is going to marry?"

Morgana shook her head. "No. And neither has her father - not really. He was trying very hard to make an impression, and he succeeded, but I'm sure if her father met you, he would be far more favourably impressed."

"How can you say that? I'm no one, Morgiana."

"So was he, only a few years ago. Then Alvar met a man who gave him a chance to rebuild his life, and he made the most of it. I think you'll find your fortune much improved, Ali. Above all, understand that he only wants to see his daughter happy, and he is more likely to trust a hard-working man than one born rich."

As Morgana turned to leave, Ali Baba stopped her, and held out the fateful blue jewel. "Please, give this to her? To remember me by."

Morgana sighed, eyeing it apprehensively. "Only if you promise me to be in Arendelle within the month. No matter what happens, be there."

"I promise, Morgiana."

She bowed her head, and accepted the jewel.

* * *

><p>That night, Morgana and Agatha walked the few miles between the town and the port. "Do you trust this captain?" Agatha asked.<p>

Morgana shrugged. "More than Zayir. The Minevar mentioned him as one of his successes - a young innocent man he'd managed to free from Ismail's influence. Agatha - Ali wanted me to give you this -"

She held out the Heart of the Sea, which caught the evening light and blazed in Morgana's palm.

"No, you should keep it. I've already seen the sort of luck it brings. It tears you from your home, where you thought you were safe, throws you out into the world on some adventure that you're lucky to survive, and introduces you to your true love, whom you'll be lucky to ever see again," Agatha replied bitterly. "At least you seem to have that kind of luck yourself."

Morgana sighed. "Believe in the best, Agatha, and plan for the worst. There's the ship."

The two discovered, when they came aboard, that the ship was set to put out to see the following morning. Morgana saw that Agatha settled in comfortably, then told Captain Sinbad she would return before the ship sailed: she was going to bring back the Minevar, if she could. She disembarked quickly and set off at a run across the desert.


	16. Death Is But Another World

Morgana ran into the caves, she knew the way even in the dark now. Up, up to the Dragon's alcove, she tore through the piles of gold and and silver and precious stones. Sure enough, there he was, sitting with his back to the wall, knees drawn up. The Minevar, startled by the noise, looked up apprehensively, but, recognising the intruder, he smiled, closed his eyes, and settled back against the wall again.

"You've come to get me out of here, haven't you, Little Dragon?"

"Yes, please, let's go. There's a ship, it's leaving tomorrow night, it will take us to Arendelle."

"You, my dear. You and the merchant's daughter, but not me."

"Please, Minevar, you can't stay," Morgana insisted, walking up to him.

"I can't leave, either. I would guess, the King of Thieves escaped your trap, did he not?"

Morgana paled considerably. "I don't know how he survived."

"He's been considerably more affected with Blackwater poisoning than the rest," the Minevar replied hoarsely. "And he wasted no time with me." His humour, his liveliness that she had seen before, it had all been spent - as if the only gleam of hope in the twilight of his life had been the appearance of his Little Dragon, and he had mustered all his remaining strength for that, expecting never to see her again after she left the Jewelled Caves.

"No, please, not that," Morgana dropped weakly to her knees beside him. "All the things I've seen that they regretted in their lives, all that pain he put them through -"

"You can't help me, child," the Minevar interrupted. "It's good you don't want to try something like that again, too. After all, I am very old. My regrets are a wine aged to vinegar - they're not memories you'll ever shake."

"What have you to regret?" Morgana asked sadly.

"Many things. Many things, I did not regret, until I had that cursed water forced down my throat. It tends to turn your mind against you, as you know. Little Dragon, I am old, and regret kills faster than time. It won't be long, now." He closed his eyes again.

"Grandfather," she whispered.

The old Dragon weakly raised his head. "What?" he whispered, surprised.

Morgana struggled for a moment, hunting for the right form among the binding ceremonies and contracts of her people. "Minevar, I ask that you do me the honour of accepting a place in my family, as my grandfather."

There was a strained and awed gasp that dissolved rather quickly into coughs. When he recovered enough to speak, the Minevar protested, "How can a man accept such an offer on his deathbed? Little Dragon, I would not be your grandfather for more than a few minutes. That is unjust. I would give all that I have left to have returned to the city with you, and to have been your grandfather from that moment to the end of my days."

"You are wrong."

"Eh?"

"You were the one who taught me, there is eternity even in a few short minutes," Morgana replied.

Minevar looked over at the pale young girl, tears glimmering in her eyes, as she reached out to him and took his hand. The cave around them blackened as if all the light had receded to small colourful points on the walls. A weight seemed to fall away from him as he slowly realised they were floating among stars. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

"I am honoured to accept my place in your family as your grandfather, Little Dragon," he uttered at length.

Morgana glanced up at him in surprise, for she had not expected anything to follow his silence, then smiled. "Welcome home," she said.

"As I recall, the new member of the family always brings a gift," the old Dragon remarked thoughtfully, though he could see Morgana ready to protest. "What is the first rule of the Dragon Council?" he cut her off sharply.

Morgana stumbled, not having expected the question. "If the Minevar offers you a gift, it is in your best interest to accept it," she recited, as if it were a litany all children were taught, and all newly inducted council members were forced to repeat. He smiled at her schoolgirlish response.

"And it doesn't matter how much you love your grandfather, though I cherish the sentiment," he replied, with a twinkle in his eye. "Little Dragon, I have only magic left to give you, and not much of that besides. But this much I have: the gift of a Seer."

Morgana shook her head. "A strange gift."

All Dragons knew Seers were often a danger to themselves: caught up in an attempt to prevent a certain future, they would go to extraordinary lengths, and the more powerful the Dragon, the more likely a wholly unexpected, unpredictable, and sometimes unmanageable result.

"Aye, but as with all Dragon Magic, one you can choose to ignore, at your own peril of course. You can see each most likely outcome following any instant of time, and with every passing instant the more likely combination becomes clearer to you. You cannot often do anything to influence the course of events directly, but if you open a game for the long term, you may well succeed. I chose to ignore the game once, in favour of the survival of a future Minevar, one who would surpass me in wisdom and intelligence." Here he looked earnestly up at Morgana again, as if he had been referring to her, but she would never accept that. He had to give her time to figure it out on her own. "Little Dragon, there will always be hope for our kind, and now that hope lies with you."

"What hope do you see?"

"Did you not remake the Link between Merlin and yourself?" The Minevar smiled weakly at Morgana, who still did not look quite convinced. "Little Dragon, always skeptical, always looking for empirical proof, as if belief were not an inherent part of all Magic," he laughed. "I know that look, I know those thoughts - how often they plagued me in my younger days! You doubt the Link was reforged by your efforts, but rather that it exists only because Merlin cannot hurt the one he loves. Now, I ask you, do you really believe that Dragon Magic was not founded in True Love?"

Morgana sighed, brushing away a stray tear. "But there are so few of us left."

"Ah - now I see the trouble. You think simply because most us are dead that the Dragons are gone forever. Be not afraid, little one," he whispered, leaning forward to take her hand, "for Death is but another world."

He sighed, and seemed to drift off into sleep. After a little while, though, he woke with a start. "Still here, Little Dragon?"

"I'm here."

"I almost forgot something," he smiled ruefully.

"What is it?"

"My name. If you are my granddaughter, you should know it."

Morgana leaned in close enough for him to whisper it in her ear.

It was the last word he spoke, but as Morgana sat with him for the next few hours, she found she could not bear the darkness of the old mage's dreams - for she could hear them as clearly as his regret. So she stepped into his dreams, and there, she tried an old trick that Dragon mothers used to frighten away their children's nightmares without waking them. Morgana showed him the city as she remembered it. She showed him his people as they had been long before the war, she showed him the Magic that had held them all together. And remarkably, little by little, the regret fell away. The bitterness and grief were replaced by warmth and peace as the old man walked beside the young girl, his Little Dragon, marveling at the wonders of their lost world.

The great Minevar died in his sleep, and Morgana, sitting at his side, wept bitterly. Dawn was fast approaching when at last she rose and stumbled to the mouth of the Jewelled Caves. There, she turned back one last time.

"Goodbye, Oberon," she said, and set a fire in the cave. As she turned and fled to the seashore, it ripped through the dark, momentarily condensing and filling the air in the form of a fierce roaring Dragon. Then the beast tore through the cave opening and screamed into the air, up into the sky, to the very stars, until it was just a speck of light in the distance.


	17. The Sea and Sinbad's Ship

Morgana returned with a heavy heart as the rose-gold light of the dawn appeared overhead, just brushing the topgallants of Sinbad's ship, the _Chimera_. She came aboard without assistance, as artfully as the best of sailors, with hardly a whisper of her loose garb to announce her. Agatha stood staring out over the sea as it sparkled and rippled, blue as the jewel around Morgana's neck. She sensed the Dragon's comforting presence hovering over her shoulder, and quickly brushed away her quiet tears.

"I don't want to marry Lord Arno," she whispered.

Morgana sighed and wrapped her arms tightly around her friend. "Don't worry, Agatha."

Agatha shook her head, and took a deep breath. "Where is the Minevar?" she asked, noting that Morgana had come alone, and that even she seemed sadder than usual.

"Gone," she replied after a moment, in a small voice.

"The Minevar, gone?" Agatha naturally assumed Morgana meant 'dead', but somehow it seemed impossible. "The way you spoke of him, of all the years he'd seen, it sounded like he might have been -" She paused carefully, unsure whether what she was about to say might seem silly.

"Immortal? Undying?" Morgana stepped back with a sigh and shook her head. "Immortal doesn't mean one can't be killed, else there's usually something Dark about that magic - Dark, meaning that it feeds on others. The price for that kind of act is far too high for anyone sane to accept, unless out of desperation. But the Dragons voluntarily pooled their power to sustain themselves. Our lives depended on it, and our lives depended on the existence of a Minevar."

"Then how can he be dead?"

Morgana shrugged. "A person can be broken. It may take years, it may take the death of all their people, the extinction of their bloodline, the destruction of their way of life - only a soulless shell can survive that. _Minevar_ means 'eldest', or 'wisest', but it never meant 'undying'. They were the great advisers to our people, but never Kings. Their true purpose was to rediscover old secrets of Dragon Magic, and to keep dangerous discoveries secret. After all, a few centuries pass and people forget many important things - things that, perhaps, were without application then, but are quite useful now."

Agatha nodded her understanding. "So who will become the new Minevar?"

"There isn't one. Traditionally, the oldest Dragon would inherit the title, unless the dying Minevar chose his own successor - usually a young Dragon fated to live an extraordinarily long life. But there are no Dragons now, only survivors. There is no Citadel to greet them as heroes, no one left to honour the dead. He named me his successor in his last moments, as I named him my grandfather. What are these titles but words? Words had weight among our people, they were contracts, never to be spoken easily, bound by our magic. Now that the people are gone, who honours that power?"

Saddened and puzzled by her unusual hopelessness, Agatha looked over at her friend, disagreement traced over her lovely features.

"You call yourself a Dragon, as do your parents," she argued, "you honour the dead and cherish the living. You did not lightly give him the title of Grandfather: it meant something to you. And so to him you were the next Minevar. Maybe magical word-contracts no longer hold meaning for you, in a world where that would only restrict you, but it was important to him, and I know you would never take that lightly."

Morgana drew breath sharply and straightened to her full height, as if reminded that she could be proud of who she was, though the others were gone and she was still alive. She smiled sadly, meeting Agatha's earnest gaze. "I never understood what Dragons had against non-magical folk," she sighed, "for some are wiser than all of us."

Agatha couldn't help a small laugh. "Then as the next Minevar, you already know one mistake to correct."

The Dragon shrugged and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the ship's rail and looking down at the water below. "I'm not sure it was a mistake they could help making. It was so ingrained into all of us, you see - the distrust of nonmagical ones."

"Why?"

"We couldn't kill our own, Agatha. But outsiders could."

"Someone killed a Dragon?"

"That was the part of the story we were all told. And then I came here, and started rifling through the memories of cursed men, and I discovered something quite different."

"You found a witness?" Agatha guessed. It didn't seem likely.

"It always bothered me that there was no obvious reason behind the murder. There was a love story involved, but ultimately it wasn't a satisfactory motive. As it turns out, the mastermind behind the crime was another Dragon."

Confused, Agatha muttered, "But if he couldn't kill his own, or hide his thoughts from them..."

The Dragon shook her head. "Not thoughts. No one eavesdrops on another's head: if you choose to share a statement, it may be charged with your emotion or opinion. This may take a moment to explain."

She stopped to consider her wording, then began again: "Our magic is intrinsically linked to our language. Our historians claimed Dragons have always been magical, and the language formed with every action and discovery we made. Thus, just as it is possible to read someone's emotions or thoughts from their posture, so it is possible to read a Dragon from their magic. It is exceptionally difficult to learn to hide these things, because we cannot lie to each other. Either you must intentionally misinterpret your emotion for yourself before broadcasting it to the world, or you must carefully select incomplete statements of truth. Every now and then, however, someone rejects the Dragons' Link - our collective magic - and opts instead to rely purely on individual abilities. They are the original 'Renegades', unpredictable at best, murderous and destructive at their very worst, but even then - in what world does a man raise his hand against his brother?"

Agatha shrugged. "It is a terrible thing, but not unheard of."

Morgana gave a light humourless scoff. "Indeed. For us, that is impossible. Dragon Magic was meant to ensure the survival of our people at every turn, and blood still speaks louder than even the Link that holds us all together."

"So one of the Renegades tricked a man into killing his own brother?"

"A man fell in love with a beautiful Dragon, but her father, Prospero, disapproved of the match. The two planned to elope, but were stopped by her uncle, who then made a deal with the boy. He told him of a Dragonslayer from Avalon who must be stopped; told him where to find this Dragonslayer, and assured the young man that if he succeeded, the Dragons would see him as a hero, and Prospero would be forever grateful. Thinking of nothing but that he could marry the beautiful woman he loved, the young man and his brother sought out this Dragonslayer, and killed him. And only then, as they turned the body over, did they realise that they had murdered Prospero.

"They thought it was a mistake - they hoped it was a mistake, until Antonio appeared before them again, and assured them that this was his intent all along. And then he gave them a chance to flee, telling them where his niece was at that precise moment. But of course, she figured it out."

Agatha had gone quite pale. "Captain on deck," she muttered, noticing a stir out of the corner of her eye, as young Sinbad came up from below decks. The Captain sighted them, and instantly walked forward to bid them good morning. Morgana said nothing as the girl moved to meet him, and hesitated before turning away from the rail herself.

"Did you hear that, Aunt Ursula?" she asked, watching the water ripple uneasily below. "Of course you did. If you thought to avenge the death of your father, you killed the right brother. But if you sought to avenge your heart, you created a monster instead."

* * *

><p>In retrospect, it wasn't a good idea to talk back to one's aunt - certainly not a magical sea-witch aunt, and certainly not aboard a ship entirely at her mercy. And if you had survival at all in mind, it was best not to talk about her tragic love story, which she'd gone through considerable pains to conceal and distort. This wasn't an aunt Morgana had any particularly pleasant history with. But Morgana had hoped to discover precisely what grudge Ursula still held against her sisters, Miranda and Aurora.<p>

Not that any conversation with Ursula was ever forthcoming: not before a raging tempest. Morgana, rather than engage in a battle of wits against a Dragon more than three times her age, preferred to direct her efforts toward keeping the ship from blowing to pieces. The possibility of running it safely aground was significantly diminished this time. The ship nearly shattered against the rocky shoreline, but the crew, for the most part remained unharmed.

Shivering and sputtering, they made it ashore, and Morgana quickly checked Sinbad's headcount. No one was missing, at least. Someone yelped, having stepped on a sharp rock, so it was agreed that they all rest and wait for morning, or at least for the storm to clear.

The morning brought them a rather surprising view of the beach. The soft white sand stretched along the jagged red cliff faces, and the sand was littered with glittering shards of light.

"Diamonds!" someone cried out.

Morgana shook her head in disbelief. "Impossible. They don't naturally grow in that shape, they're cut into that form by a jeweler," she muttered.

Agatha bent down and picked a diamond out of the sand the size of a human molar, promptly set its point against a rock and drew a line across it. "So you'd think," she remarked.

Morgana looked from the rock to the jewel in Agatha's hand. "That doesn't really prove that it is a diamond," she said dubiously, and bent down to find another.

What followed was a strange sight indeed. Morgana squinted at it, held it up to the sun, floated it over her palm, twirled it absently in the air, conjured some strange smoky tendrils that circled around the gem and vanished into thin air. The diamond fell back to her hand, and the Dragon closed her hand about it thoughtfully.

"Well? Is it real?" someone asked earnestly.

Morgana turned her head to them just slightly, still staring at the same point in the sand, as if she hadn't quite finished thinking. "Hm? Oh - "

The look on her face was decidedly uninterested, possibly even disgusted. "You may sell them as diamonds if you wish. They were forged by magic, but will likely outlast a natural one."

Though the others set about scooping the gems from the sand, Agatha noted a sense of foreboding - and dropped hers. "When you say, forged by magic, is that Dragon Magic?" she asked quietly.

Morgana shook her head. "Avalonian. They have a tradition: the dead are commemorated with a jewel that is passed to the eldest surviving family member."

"So these are all dead Avalonians?" Agatha tried so hard not to scream that instead she whispered.

"No. Some are Dragons. Some are Dragonslayers. Some are extinct or disgraced or very, very old Avalonian families. And some of these are criminals."

"And you didn't tell them?" she hissed, meaning the crew who were now busily filling whatever pouch or wallet they had handy.

Morgana didn't seem to see anything wrong with the idea. "There is nothing dangerous in a diamond," she assured Agatha. "Each one contains only the story of a person long gone. The Avalonians, for all that they claim they wish to learn from their ancestors' mistakes, have since discovered better ways of doing so. Turning their bodies into a jewel is an old tradition. The magic of the dead is still used to sustain the city and its defenses. A diamond is only a diamond, Agatha. Don't worry."

Morgana bent down to a curiously green one and dusted it off. "This one was marked for some reason - a foreigner, perhaps. By the way, a mere few of these stones will make a handsome dowry. Be practical - even if Lord Arno will not have you after your travels aboard a slave trader's ship, at least you'll have something other than the Dragon Sisters' favours with which to support your family."

Agatha winced, though thankfully Morgana did not see it. She seemed rather more interested in the gem that had been deliberately marked with another colour, and walked on spinning it in her hand, trying to read the life and memories that had been formed into its structure. Suddenly she stopped short, nearly dropping it, and turned back to look out at the sea, though the waters were calm now, and lapped gently at the shore.

"This one was made for you," she realised. "The Minevar wished to learn who had killed Prospero, and asked the Avalonians for their help. And they did help. He brought it to you, as a parting gift."

Silence was the only reply, by Ursula may as well have answered.

Up ahead, someone called for the Captain, and the rest of the crew quickly caught up. They had come upon another survivor of a wreck - or so the man loudly proclaimed, but there was no wreckage anywhere near. When Morgana drew close enough to recognise him, she roughly pushed Agatha out of sight, seized a dagger off the first mate's belt, and pressed it against the man's neck.

"What are you doing? Morgana!" Sinbad cried out in horror.

She didn't pay anyone the slightest attention. "Where's Merlin?" she asked with icy calm.

The man didn't answer, seeming quite paralysed with terror and throwing pleading glances to the surrounding crew, but they didn't move. People didn't meddle with wizards when they eschewed their normal practice and took to hand weapons instead. And doubly so, no one meddled with Dragons, even young ones.

"Where is Merlin?" she asked again.

"Help me, please! She's a witch - she sank my ship! Please -" the knife, pressed closer against his throat, shut him up.

"Who is this man?" Sinbad asked her.

"It is my particular ill fortune to be obliged to introduce - Zayir, the slave trader." Most, if not all present, took a careful step back. "So, where is he?"

The mask of the poor, battered survivor suddenly cracked and the face of Zayir the hardened criminal took its place. "Gone, little Morgiana, Dancer from the City of Avalon. Taken by pirates. They made me walk the plank, but as you can see I survived. I imagine they treated him to a far worse fate."

"And do you imagine that as you have escaped pirates' justice, and that of the Forty Thieves, that you will escape my own?" Morgana asked with a dangerous smile. "You are a slippery, cowardly parasite. Slippery as an eel, I might say," she added thoughtfully. "Yes, that will do nicely."

She let go and stepped aside, but where the man had been now writhed an eel, which she unceremoniously tossed into the sea. Brushing her hands clean she straightened, and said: "If we go on this way, by midday we should reach one of the passages to The Diamond City of Avalon. They will provide you with a ship and a means for all of us to get home."

As the others, whispering amongst themselves, dispersed into smaller groups, Morgana walked up to Sinbad, who was thoughtfully staring after the eel that was long gone. "Did you sink his ship?" he asked.

"I ran a slave ship aground, to help the people whose lives he was about to sell. As for your ship, I simply could not save it. But in the future -" she reached up to the back of her neck and unclasped the necklace with its single blue jewel.

Sinbad stared at it. "I know what that is," he said at length, "the Minevar told me of it. He said it would come to me upon his death, and that his successor would offer it to me as a gift."

He looked up at Morgana, who paled slightly at the mention of the Minevar's predictions.

"He is dead, then?"

She nodded tightly. "Take it," she gestured with the necklace. "I cannot say that it will spare you wretched storms, but it will alway bring you home."

Sinbad hesitated a moment, then bowed and accepted the gift, and set off rapidly in the direction of the passage to the Diamond City. Agatha, who had witnessed the exchange from a little ways off, came alongside Morgana. "Here's a question: if a person who is neither you nor the previous Minevar acknowledges you as the next Minevar, can you still deny it?"

Morgana shot her a quick grimace, but admitted, with a smile, "I'm finding it difficult to contradict."

* * *

><p>Not far away, a pirate ship floated lazily in the fresh morning breeze. The Captain was examining the prisoners aboard his ship. Some would be pressed to join his crew, some he had no use for. He strode the length of the deck in front of them, threatening every one with certain death. The speech was mechanical, memorised, and convincingly delivered. And then it was completely derailed.<p>

Some of the more wealthy passengers offered him riches, bribes to spare their lives. Those he ignored. Then at the far end of the line someone said to him, "Please don't kill me."

The Captain stopped short.

* * *

><p>Author's Notes<p>

Coming Soon:_ Part Three: The Pirate Mage.  
><em>Also will soon add chapters to_ First Curse of Storybrooke. _From the looks of things, I really should have named it _Part Four: The First Curse of Storybrooke._


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